


Prejudice and Pride

by Pondermoniums



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Asexual Mary Bennet, Bisexual Charles Bingley, Canon Era, Elizabeth is James, Explicit Sexual Content, He Goes By Jamie or Lizzy, Heartbreak, Lesbian Kitty Bennet, M/M, More Graphic Than Canon, Mr. Collins Is Still a Shit, Sexual exploration, Slow Build, Violence, genderbent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22348300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pondermoniums/pseuds/Pondermoniums
Summary: Second son of a house full of women, James Elizabeth Bennet is as devoted to the women in his life as their mother is to getting them married. Being the only male sibling gives him the entitlement of starting mischief as well as ending it, until the local estate for rent is finally claimed by a wealthy Charles Bingley alongside his sisters and a guest by the name of Fitzwilliam Darcy.As the middle and wealthy classes combine, old agonies resurface within both parties, alongside current and forbidden needs. For one such as Jamie, though, as marriage becomes a very real aspect in his sisters' futures, loneliness becomes a more present element of his.
Relationships: Catherine Bennet/Georgiana Darcy, James Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet/Charles Bingley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81





	1. Newcomers

**Author's Note:**

> Experiencing deja vu? That's because this story was deleted. [You can read its entirety on my website,](https://www.pondermoniums.com/prejudice-and-pride) but I'm uploading the first chapter here so those of you who subscribed to me as a whole can be notified of the change.
> 
> For more information on what happened, [visit my tumblr.](https://pondermoniums.tumblr.com/)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

At least, this was Mrs. Bennet’s claim while the family gathered in the foyer to wish Mr. Bennet safe travels. Straightening his coat lapels, she kissed the whiskers of his recently shaven face while simultaneously ushering him out the door. “Netherfield Park is let at last and it is hardly two kilometers down the road. Off with you!”

“My dear, you’ve hardly given reason,” he stated mildly. His stark bluish grey eyes flicked to his second offspring’s while his wife was occupied.

“Oh but I have!” she defended.

“And what is his name?” Mr. Bennet guessed.

“Bingley!” she chimed.

“Is he married or single?”

“Single, to be sure!”

“I can never be sure, dear.”

She swatted his chest. “He is for one of our daughters, certainly. A single man of large fortune: four or five thousand a year! What a fine thing for our girls.”

"Not all of them at once, I hope?" her husband remarked.

“I hope you don’t mean to insinuate young men are collectible things, mama,” James Bennet intercepted from where he leaned against the parlor doorway with the eldest, Jane. Mr. Bennet smiled softly.

She gave him a smirk. “With four daughters to take care of, my Lizzy, I will collect as many as I can.”

She turned back to her husband while he asked, “Is that his design in settling here?”

“Design!” she huffed. “Nonsense, how can you talk so? But it is very likely that he _may_ fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes.”

“I see no occasion for that,” he harrumphed mildly, wielding his walking cap. “You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party.”

James and Jane exchanged smiles while the youngest, Lydia and Katherine giggled profusely. The middle daughter, Mary, sat in the window seat reading and giving all appearances of ignoring them albeit for her occasional glances.

Their mother fanned herself against the late summer heat. “My dear, you flatter me. I certainly _have_ had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five—I mean four, sorry Lizzy, love, your middle name is a curse upon you.”

James cast his grey eyes to the ceiling, gently shaking his head while his mother continued, “When a woman has four grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.”

"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of,” Mr. Bennet commented dryly, earning snorts of mirth from his eldest children behind their hands.

Mrs. Bennet’s mind was on a singular track. “But my dear, you must go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighborhood.”

“It is more than I engage for, I assure you,” her husband smarted.

“But consider your daughters! Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, and you know they rarely visit newcomers. You must go or it will be impossible for _us_ to visit him otherwise.”

“You are over scrupulous surely. I daresay Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls. I’ll even throw in a good word for our Lizzy. If Mr. Bingley has a half-penny of humour worth exploring, he will enjoy the scheme.”

Color rose in Mrs. Bennet’s cheeks. “I desire you will do no such thing. Jamie is not a bit better than the others, and I am sure he is not so half so handsome as Jane—”

“Thank you for thinking so highly of me, mama,” he quipped. His fair sister Jane rubbed his arm.

Mrs. Bennet spared a consoling glance over her shoulder. “Oh my love, you know you are precious to me but this is a matter of four against one.” She turned back to her husband. “And no one is half so good humoured as Lydia. You are always giving _him_ the preference. Did I marry such a typical Englishman?”

Mr. Bennet tucked a flyaway curl of ash brown hair behind her ear. “I fear there is everything typical about me, my dear, as there is with my children. They have none of them much to recommend them. To the urban breed, they are all silly and ignorant girls. It should be a light to our lives that Jamie has something more of a quickness than his sisters. I haven’t any idea from where he got it.”

“Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves,” she exclaimed while slapping the cap upon his head.

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least.”

“Ah, you do not know what I suffer!” she proclaimed. Her son leaned his head against the doorframe behind her, and Jane put her own upon his shoulder.

Mr. Bennet opened the iron-ribbed door to allow a fresh breeze into the room. “But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighborhood.”

“It will be no use to us if twenty such should come!” she retorted. “Since you will not visit them!”

He straightened his cap. “Depend upon it, my life-love, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all, as I already have this one.”

Wife and daughters perked their heads up. James smiled softly while Mr. Bennet grinned, the man so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, with reserve and caprice that the experience of three and twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. “When is the next ball of Meryton expected, Lizzy?”

“Tomorrow fortnight,” was the reply.

With glistening eyes she pulled him in for a kiss before just as quickly slapping his chest. Her mind was less difficult. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper.

Once their temperaments had been set to rights, Mr. Bennet stood straight and announced to his family, “Well who would join me for a stroll into town, since I’ve been swept from my own home?”

Even Mary rushed to find her shoes.


	2. Bees and Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that more chapters are on[ my website.](https://www.pondermoniums.com/prejudice-and-pride)

“Don’t keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven’s sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”

“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied her second youngest in the darkness of their chaise.

Mrs. Bennet’s fan moved fretfully in the air, bidding the excited heat of the evening away. “Your father has dealt a treacherous hand! Had Mrs. Long come back a day earlier, we would have depended upon her to introduce him to us!”

Mr. Bennet voiced his presence as he peered out the window. “Then you may have the advantage of your friend, my dear, and introduce Mr. Bingley to _her._ As the cards hold, the party in question has not arrived prior to us. I do not see a carriage befitting their station.”

“Impossible, Mr. Bennet,” his wife declared as if it were obvious. “Impossible, when I am not acquainted with him myself! How can you be so teasing? Besides the point, the wealthy have fashionable deadlines which are of course later than most.”

James and Jane exchanged looks. The queue of carriages rocked forward and it was finally their turn to leave the stuffy chaise. Before they could escape inside, Mrs. Bennet heralded her children around her to establish a meeting time at the end of the evening as well as to voice a final complaint toward her husband’s negligence.

Mr. Bennet countered, “The past weeks have hardly been an exercise in negligence. A fortnight’s acquaintance is very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight, therefore I thought to not strain my beloved’s nerves more than necessary. As to your concerns of Mrs. Long, she and her nieces must stand their chance; she will think it an act of kindness, your standing aside until this evening.”

Mrs. Bennet made an indignant sound along with, “Nonsense! Nonsense!”

Mr. Bennet smarted, “Do you now consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, nonsense? What say you, Mary? You are a young lady of deep reflection.”

Caught unaware, Mary wished to say something sensible and awe inspiring but knew not how. Her mouth opened only to hang open.

“While Mary is adjusting her ideas,” Mr. Bennet continued, “let us return to, or should I say begin with, Mr. Bingley.”

His wife let out an exasperated sound. “I am sick of Mr. Bingley.”

He was hardly bothered while he ushered his family to the doors. “I am sorry to hear that, but why did you not tell me so before? If I had known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called upon him a second time. He seemed quite thrilled for tonight’s festivities. We shall now make a very awkward acquaintance when he arrives.”

The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished, that of Mrs. Bennet surpassing the rest; although when the initial tumult of joy was over she began to declare it was what she had expected of her husband all the while—

Kitty’s handkerchief flew up to catch her cough, but her brother wasted not a second. Curling his arm through hers while Jane was on her other side, the eldest siblings rushed her through the doors before their mother’s wrath was further incurred. “Let’s get some tea into you,” James declared.

“Tea?” Kitty whined. “But Jamie, Mrs. Lucas said there’d be wine.”

“Not a drop of it until you’ve had a cuppa,” Jane retorted.

“Ugh,” Kitty growled indignantly. “I’ll need to make my own tea every half hour!”

James leaned close for her ears alone, “Try to contain your vulgarity. This evening means a lot to our mother.”

“And wine passes through the system as quickly as tea,” Jane concurred as they arrived at the refreshment table. “Behave yourself.”

They took steps to leave Kitty to her fate but their mother and Lydia arrived. “Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I daresay Mr. Bingley will dance with you at this ball.”

Oh!” Lydia exclaimed stoutly. “I am not afraid; for though I am the youngest, I’m the tallest.”

James grimaced over his shoulder. “What’s that to do with anything? Can we tell people you bump your head too much on doorways?”

“Lizzy!” their mother all but screamed while Lydia tried to strike him but he was swift. Lydia chased him through the crowd before growing distracted by a young man asking her for the first dance. James met with the Bennet’s neighbor, Charlotte Lucas, and with her they rejoined Jane who had been ensnared by Mrs. Bennet and Charlotte’s own mother, Lady Lucas.

“You’ve met him!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “Well go on! Tell all! My husband refuses to provide a satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley, no matter how we interrogate him.”

James murmured between Charlotte and Jane, “By _we,_ she means herself and Lydia.”

The ladies chuckled, the latter seconding, “Poor Kitty gets swept within Lydia’s excitement as well.”

James saw a dark glimmer in Charlotte’s eye, then, and let himself be pulled by her away from their mothers. Jane had seen it too, and followed. “I’ve seen him,” Charlotte revealed.

“Please tell me he’s appalling,” he japed. “Warts and thinning hair, the works.”

Jane laughed but scolded. “If mother has her way, one of us is to marry him! Don’t curse us so.”

Charlotte held Jane’s arm within her own as the three of them made a lap around the assembly. “He’s quite attractive, actually. His hair is the color of copper and he wore a fine blue coat atop his black horse.”

Jane’s brows lifted. “He must have come to have tea with you?”

She nodded. “With papa, yes, but he was perfectly lovely to me. He’s quite young. He can’t be much older than you, Jane. And he loves to dance, he said this to me directly. We shan’t wait much longer before we see him here.”

Jane wondered, “Do you know how many will be in his party?”

“Oh,” Charlotte’s brows furrowed while she recollected. “I can’t be sure. As soon as he left us he rode back to London to bring more people to Netherfield. Twelve ladies, and seven gentlemen was what I heard but I truly doubt these numbers. Charles spoke specifically of his sisters and perhaps a cousin.”

“You are on a first name acquaintance with him,” Jane laughed. “Do not reveal this disclosure to our mother. How large is his family?”

“There are six. He and his five sisters. I know nothing of the cousin.”

“Oh!” Jane smiled. “He is quite like you, Jamie. If only your hair had more assam instead of honey in it.”

He shrugged, sharing her smile. “One sister more than me. He has me beat.”

Jane reached behind Charlotte to rake her fingers through his honey brown hair, the silken, floppy tresses long enough to tuck behind his ear but short enough to fall back around his face. He felt Charlotte’s hand between his shoulder blades. “Well, if the rest of the Bingleys are like the Bennets, the rest of us will be blinded by your beautiful families.”

James guffawed. “A set of bumpkins among London’s glossy breed. I think we should place our wages to how long it takes them to kick dirt up in their haste to leave us.”

“Lizzy,” Jane scolded. “Why would you say that? We haven’t even met them.”

“But papa has.”

“That means nothing,” she countered. “He is an old man who prefers the solitude of his library than the science of truly studying and understanding people. Anyhow, both he and the Lucases seem to think well of Charles Bingley.”

“Out of the seven of us, he is the only one who has been to London,” James reminded. “Perhaps his observations and studies have driven him to the library’s solitude.”

“Oh Jamie,” she sighed, and gently shoved his head. “You’re speaking like an old man too soon. Let us be children one more night.”

Charlotte concurred. “I may see the end of my twenties more clearly than either of you but I will drink to that. Let’s find the wine.”

The gentleman standing sentinel beside the wine poured a sweet red for James while Jane and Charlotte preferred a crisp white. James lifted the crimson fluid to his lips, the glass edge indenting his flesh, and it was in this moment the doors to the assembly opened. Heads lifted from wine and conversation. No one could have said whether music still played or not, so invested were they in who was arriving last.

Charles Bingley was easy enough to select from the rather small group. Out of Charlotte’s numbers, it appeared only three men and two women were apart of the party. James heard Charlotte whisper to Jane, “His two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and…I do not know the other man.”

As befitting their station, a herald announced, “Mr. Charles Bingley, accompanied by Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy, Miss Caroline Bingley, and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst.”

“Lord?” Mary voiced, suddenly on James’ other side. “The Darcy fellow is a lord?”

“A small one, surely,” Jane supplied. “Otherwise we’d know of him?”

“Oh...he is heir of Pemberley,” Charlotte remembered quietly, and the group of them fell silent. Pemberley was one of the most prominent estates in England. Even they in their rural ignorance knew of the Derbyshire home which was only small against the castles of kings.

James felt his sisters’ hands on the back of his tucked shirt, grounding themselves. He had removed his waistcoat in the heat of the room and he was certainly not the only gentleman to do so, but this contrasted highly with the layered, lustrous fabrics of the newcomers. Mr. Bingley wore the telltale blue coat, glimmering slightly in the chandelier’s glow. He was good looking and gentlemanly with his copper hair that matched his sisters’; he had a pleasant countenance and easy, unaffected manners. James could see that immediately in how he grinned and shook the assembly manager’s hand, the very image of old friends despite this being their first meeting.

The brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, appeared a typical gentleman along with his wife, whose hair was only slightly more auburn than the brilliant copper of her unmarried siblings. Overall, the Bingley sisters’ attire was fine and decidedly fashionable in their contrast to the rest of the women present.

But Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room. Like bees and flowers, the Bennets were drawn to one another since James heard his mother whisper behind his shoulder, “My word, his height...but what handsome features.”

James could not say he disagreed. Mr. Darcy gripped the attention of the room by his fine, tall stature, noble mien, and by the report which circulated the venue within five minutes, of his having ten thousand a year.

“Is his hair a bit long? Is it fashionable?” Mrs. Bennet queried to Charlotte. “It’s a slight unruly, isn’t it? Oh, but I suppose it is quite rugged…”

James analyzed the man of which his mother was having difficulty developing an opinion. The hair was nearly black, or a rich brown that reminded him of a Christmas Mr. Bennet had brought home chocolate for the family. It had been bitter but sweet, and he had been the only Bennet to enjoy it enough to finish the parcel. As far as James could tell, the man had quite straight hair, but the late summer’s humidity had pulled it into soft waves. The tresses on the nape of his neck were perhaps too long but instead of the hair falling messily over his forehead, it was combed neatly to one side. Unlike Mr. Bingley’s, Darcy’s hair pushed off his scalp with quite a bit of volume.

Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room. He proved lively and unreserved as he appeared determined to dance every melody struck up by the orchestra. After his first dance with Charlotte, however, Mr. Bennet succeeded in drawing him over to meet his family. Mr. Bingley’s own joined them.

Mr. Bennet began, “It is my pleasure to introduce my Mrs. Bennet, and our five children. The eldest, Jane, James, Mary, Katherine, and of course, Lydia.”

“Charles Bingley,” he smiled with a hand on his chest. “Charles, please.”

He kissed Jane’s hand first and then shook James’s while the members of his party chose to introduce themselves individually. Mr. Darcy noticeably remained on the outskirts of their circle, silently watching the ballroom’s goings on. Mrs. Hurst was kind but collected whereas Caroline’s hand felt limp and ready to be pulled back when James bowed to kiss its surface. Her hand parted from his without contact of his mouth as if they had silently agreed upon it. Her topic of conversation afterward cemented his disinterest.

“It is quite dark and stuffy in here. Has no one thought of rebuilding the place with less wood? You are brave folk to have so many candles in such a place. You can see the tails of smoke among the rafters.”

He smiled kindly and left her in favor of Bingley’s company, which was diametric. “This is extraordinary!” he all but sang. “There is never anything like this in London. You’re even free to remove your waistcoats here!”

His blue eyes landed on James, who also felt Darcy’s dark gaze turn toward him in the corner of his eye. He laughed congenially. “It is hardly proper, I assure you. Give my mother a moment to notice and she will scold me.”

Charles’ grin never faded. He leaned forward to say as if in confidence, “I shan’t catalyze your punishment. Simply allow me to voice my jealousy.”

James felt his lips matching that smile. Charles was making it difficult to find a fault in the man—

Mr. Darcy said, “A punishment is hardly what one would receive at a London engagement. Lacking the appropriate pieces of attire would bar the individual from entering the assembly entirely.”

James’ brows reached for his hairline as he brought his glass to his lips to hide his expression. He twisted on the ball of his foot, giving a silent _good luck_ to his sisters as he pulled Charlotte with him under the excuse of a dance.

To his surprise, Charles and Jane lined up next to them as the music began. Not a minute must have passed but they exchanged nods and the music commenced. It started with the four of them each grasping hands to turn in a circle. Charles made a point to say, “I apologize for him.”

The four broke into their separate pairs but when they rejoined, James inquired, “You needn’t give apologies for others who are unwilling. I cannot say I am surprised anyhow.”

Charles guffawed but was unable to reply until their next joining. “Are you so skeptical of us? What reputation has London citizenry created for itself?”

Charlotte cut in with a warning look to James, “Not an altogether negative impression, I assure you.”

Charles impressed James by shaking his head. “I don’t buy that for a moment, but I will have to scold my companion later tonight. He is not even native to London. He hasn’t any excuse.”

“I suppose everyone has some excuse,” James supplied.

Charles beamed as they broke apart but the dance ended a moment later. “You are compassionate to say so but I wish you good fortune wriggling it out of him. If Darcy was not staying with me in Netherfield, I doubt he would have come tonight.”

“I hope I do not darken your impression of me,” James laughed, “but I haven’t any desire to discover anything more from the man.”

Even in this, Charles’ smile did not tarnish. If anything, it shined brighter. “Coming to Netherfield is proving deliciously refreshing with every moment. The air is rich and I far prefer your wicked honesty. As if London’s elite did not have enough money, they flock around Darcy like insects in this heat. Speaking of, how aren’t there any flies?”

Charlotte tapped her nose. “Smell the cedar? Mosquitos loathe the odour.”

“I did not see any bonfires outside, though,” he voiced.

She turned to point at the large tapers as thick as a man’s arm on either end of the room as well as beside the entrances. Charles’ eyes widened with curiosity. “You mean, those candles have the scent within the wax?”

“Yes,” Charlotte smiled and gestured to James—

“Charles.”

The quiet yet smooth baritone took James by surprise as he and Charles turned to face Mr. Darcy. “A word,” he requested tersely.

He clearly expected for Bingley to follow since he turned and they watched those dark shoulders silently part the crowd. Bingley squeezed Jane’s hand consolingly and leaned towards James. “He hates being left alone, especially among people.” He winked, and left them.

Lydia appeared beside Jane, then. Her mouth opened, and then closed, clearly not seeing the intention of her arrival. “Where’s he gone?”

“Mr. Darcy wished to have a word,” Jane provided.

“Oh _him_ ,” Lydia scoffed. “Such a waste in qualities.”

Jane laughed, “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well he is handsomer than Bingley,” she stated as if it was obvious, “but his manners have turned the tide of his initial popularity. He is quite a disgusting man.”

James’ brows lifted. “Tell us your true feelings, Lydia.”

Lydia gripped his arm in earnest. “Did you not see his behavior during our introduction? He did not shake papa’s hand or introduce himself!”

“You didn’t either,” Jane interrupted. “Father said your name and you ran off to dance with the Longs’ boy.”

“I won’t stay where I am unwanted,” Lydia proclaimed. “Bingley’s already set his sights on Jane, and Darcy is so unbearably proud I shan’t waste a moment on him.”

James laughed darkly while Jane retorted, “Do you hear your own words?”

Lydia rested her chin on James’ shoulder. He felt the sweat of her cheek against his own and gently leaned his head back against her curly hair. “All I’m saying is Darcy is above our company and above being pleased. If you can prove me wrong then I will delight in your nuptials, since Darcy will surely be among Bingley’s groomsmen.”

She nuzzled against James and whined, “Lizzy, will you let me taste your wine?”

He turned his head to kiss her hair. “No.”

She pouted, “Why? Kitty’s but a year older than me and she has a glass.”

“And it is one of the few occasions she has something before you. Mother is too lenient with you.”

He grimaced against the wet raspberry she kissed against his cheek. “Why shouldn’t I be pampered? I’m the youngest.”

“Congratulations, you were born when our parents were too tired to provide proper enforcement.”

She giggled and hugged his middle while he drained the glass. “Is it difficult being the only boy, Lizzy?”

He inhaled slowly for a long sigh, and then, “It’s only difficult being your brother, Lydia. Your hair takes up too much space.”

“OH!” she growled, her hands curling to tickle his sides but her arms loosened and he took off through the assembly with her on his heels.

“Lizzy! Lydia!” they heard Mrs. Bennet screech, however a new song was striking upon the orchestra’s strings. James stopped instantaneously and caught his sister’s momentum to turn it into the first motions of the dance. To his surprise, Charles had returned and asked Jane for a second dance, and further along the line, was Mr. Darcy with Mrs. Hurst.

“What a surprise,” Lydia commented when she noticed where his eyes were. “Mr. Bingley is getting on well with Jane, though.”

This was an understatement. As James observed the pair from the corner of his eye, he had never seen his sister laugh so freely, nor danced as readily. He supposed Charles had this contagious quality to his character, but he knew Jane better than anyone.

When the dance was finished, Lydia hugged him but scolded, “Not another one! There are so few gentlemen here, I must spare them each a dance.”

“Thank you for taking me into such brief consideration,” he scoffed, but lent her his handkerchief for her to wipe her face while he departed for a fresh glass of wine. A low voice drew his attention to the end of the table, where Mr. Darcy had pulled Bingley aside once more.

“Won’t you dance with us again?” Charles insisted.

“I will not,” his companion refused.

“Come, William,” he said with more urgency. “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing by yourself in this stupid manner. Much better to dance and play at merriment. You may well surprise yourself by actually enjoying yourself.”

“You know I think too highly of you, Charles, to lie in such a way. I yet refuse. You know I detest it, unless I am well acquainted with my partner. At an assembly such as this, it would be a punishment to me to stand up with any other woman in the room.”

Bingley scoffed, “Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several you must agree are uncommonly pretty.”

“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” Darcy replied. James peeked at the gentlemen to see them looking at Jane, who was currently with Mrs. Bennet.

Charles agreed wistfully, “She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld.”

“Then you had best return to her and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

Charles caught his arm before he could turn away fully. “Disagree with me all you like, but I brought you here for your betterment. You must interact with the waking world. This is an invigorating change of people, I promise you. Please. If not the women then perhaps the second Bennet?”

Darcy recoiled somewhat. “You mean I should dance with a man?”

Charles guffawed. “Perhaps at the end of the night when the wine barrels have emptied, but I meant for you to appeal to him for conversation. His tongue may prove as sharp as yours. You could use the competition.”

“Mr. Darcy.”

The pair perked up for Caroline Bingley’s interruption. “Won’t you share a dance with me?”

Darcy seemed to consider it and then answered, “Of course.”

Charles made an exhausted sound and exhibited the first amount of annoyance James had yet seen. “Acquainted enough, are you?”

“Charles—”

“No, no,” he waved them away. “Far be it for me to wish my friend real happiness.”

He moved to make his way along the trestle table, and James rotated quickly so to not appear the eavesdropper, although he soon felt a hand on his shoulder blade.

“James!” Charles greeted with a fresh breath. “You are not dancing? I estimated more ladies than men present. We are needed.”

James was impressed by the man’s gallantry, then, as he was pulled forward toward his own mother. Charles asked Mrs. Bennet for a dance, which had her floundering and only too eager for the music to begin. James invited one of the Long's nieces for the dance to appease Charles’ insistence. He could not help but observe his and Darcy’s forceful neglect of each other during the music.

Afterward, James drew Charles toward the entrance for some fresh air. “Is my face horribly red?” he laughed, sipping the crisp white wine.

“Yes,” James laughed, “but it should be cooler at this time of night.”

Charles gasped as the night air encompassed them like a cloak, all darkness and muffled silence from the noise within. “I needed this. Thank you, James. Why does your family call you Lizzy? If I may ask.”

James sipped his red with a shrug. “My middle name is Elizabeth.”

“Ah!” Bingley laughed merrily. “That explains it. I suppose Mrs. Bennet would have named you this if you were a fifth daughter.”

“Undoubtedly,” James confirmed.

“Walk with me,” Charles requested, gently holding James’ arm to steer him toward a path past the carriages. “I hope you do not misunderstand. I love my family dearly, but you are blessed in the quality of yours.”

Without really thinking about it, James let his arm fall within the crook of Bingley’s. The two of them were of the same height and strolled easily past the mares and stallions. When they came upon a glistening black horse, Charles stroked its cheek and snout. The creature had the calm of one familiar with its master. “Darcy gave this one to me,” he said.

“A fine mount,” James provided.

For whatever reason, Charles laughed. “A stubborn beast, like the master who bestowed him to me. Caroline is infatuated though.”

“A fine match,” James returned.

Charles looked him full in the face and accused cheerfully, “I’m boring you! I can tell!”

James let the giggle escape his throat. “I am not as knowledgeable in these things. I’m not the one you should converse such matters with.”

But Charles surprised him with, “Good. This small talk is exhausting,” and pulled him with renewed vigor along the path. “Where does this lead?”

“Out of Meryton,” James answered. “Eventually to Netherfield.”

“Ah,” Bingley hummed, and turned them back toward the assembly. “I would never hear the end of it if I were to leave without my sisters. Darcy would hardly care. That is both a treat and a nuisance of his character.”

“Are you sure? You are the reason for his being here.”

James realized his blunder too late. Charles’s shoes scraped the gravel in his halt. “Aha! I knew you were listening to us,” he beamed. “What a treat. You do not waste breath on pointless words, so I did not anticipate finding a fault in you.”

“I have four sisters, Mr. Bingley,” James reminded. “I can’t afford to waste my breath. I did not have malicious intentions—”

His words were waved aside. “Peace, please. I have sisters, myself, don’t I? I know how curiosity and eavesdropping become second nature. Call me Charles, James…or do I have the liberty to use Lizzy?”

Laughter burst from James’ mouth as they strolled around the assembly building. “I can’t say whether my mother would be livid or beside herself if you choose the latter.”

Charles inquired, “Is it reserved for intimate family?”

He shook his head. “Charlotte Lucas may as well be my fifth sister and she often addresses me as Lizzy. But she just as easily calls me Jamie.”

“Jamie it is,” Charles decided. “Why would Mrs. Bennet be livid?”

“I cannot say.”

“Jamie,” Charles gave his best attempt at scolding. “It has been only an evening but I sense a keen friendship in you. Why can’t you tell me?”

“Well, it involves a _friend’s_ future courtship,” James said bluntly.

Charles blinked and fell silent suddenly. “I see…”

James stopped walking, bringing both of them to a halt. “I didn’t mean to be untoward. I just…surely you suspected…?”

His breath paused in his throat as Charles’ fingers dusted over his cheek. “Of course I suspected, yes. I must always suspect. It is the consequence of my station in life.”

“How torturing.”

Charles bowed over with his laughter. “Yes! Please don’t misunderstand, and—god—I sound silly with what Darcy puts up with.”

James suppressed his sigh and instead consoled, “He is not here right now. Is marriage not an immediate goal of yours?”

Charles’ weight leaned to and fro as he finished his wine. He set the glass on a windowsill as he said, “It is neither immediate nor far off. I only…” His words faded as if he was contemplating whether to reveal his thoughts. “I suppose I decided a long time ago I already had the money and prestige because of my family. I would want the love for myself. I wanted this much to be within my own control. Do I sound mad?”

“No,” James replied calmly. “You sound brave.”

Charles raked his hair back into place with a strained laugh. “Jamie, you sound so hopeless!” he exclaimed while his weight heaved.

James gripped Charles’ upper arms to help him stand. He only meant to hold Charles steady, but he felt the pads of fingers beneath his chin, and then James realized there was a faint dusting of freckles on Charles’ nose.

His lips were soft, and he tasted like white wine. From his hair came the scents of jasmine and lemon rind. The kiss was long and soft, but before James’ mind could catch up, Charles’ forehead rested against his and he was speaking. “There is a difference between realism and cynicism, Jamie. Don’t let the latter overcome the former. Let people surprise you for the better.”

He leaned back, then, as if he remembered something. “Caroline will be needing me. It will be near time for us to retire as well.”

He left Jamie in the darkness beside the window. The ghost of lips against his own and the aroma of his hair rooted James in place…and ever so faintly, Jane’s lavender perfume from his jacket. The summer night was oddly cold against his skin as he made himself tread back inside. James returned Charles’ glass to the trestle table while he refilled his own, if nothing else than for something to hold as he came to stand between his mother and Caroline Bingley. He could not say what they were discussing until he heard Lydia’s shriek of laughter from the current dance. Peering around himself, he realized he was alone with the Bingley sisters, Mr. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy.

“That girl certainly is…loud in her glee, isn’t she?” Mrs. Hurst voiced as if he was not there.

Caroline remarked, “And her stature…as if her voice wasn’t enough on the ears, you cannot hope to escape from such a long-legged thing.”

A wet snort jerked their attention to James, who was forced to set his wine down. Caroline stood appalled by the spectacle, but Jamie knew he was officially drunk enough to not regard her opinion so highly. He set his glass back on the table, and took it upon himself to excuse himself from the assembly altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ A lot of people shipped Charles and James after this, so I wrote an alternate version of this chapter for them.](https://www.pondermoniums.com/prejudice-and-pride/blog-post-title-two-w9ztk)
> 
> [Keep up to date on my tumblr.](https://pondermoniums.tumblr.com/) @pondermoniums on twitter.


	3. Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I don't think I'm going to reupload the entire story here, but yesterday was my birthday and this is the easiest way to get the message out that chapter 32 uploaded on my website for you guys haha happy birthday to me but share the cake.](https://www.pondermoniums.com/prejudice-and-pride)

James felt the mattress move beneath him and the rustle of the covers as Jane slipped beside him. He had not been asleep long but he rubbed sand from his eyes as he turned over to face her.

“You left early,” she whispered, shuffling close to his warmth. Her cold fingers interlaced with his and he felt her breath on his knuckles. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Too much wine,” he breathed, his eyes closed. “But I’ll be fine by morning.”

Her silence opened his eyes. “Did you want to talk?”

“It can wait for the morning,” she hummed.

“I’m listening,” he coaxed, unconsciously playing with her fingers.

After a long moment she said, “What do you think of him? Of Mr. Bingley. You spent some time with him, I saw.”

“You first,” he prompted.

“Well he is just what a young man ought to be, I suppose,” she said. “Sensible, good humoured, lively; I never saw such happy manners. So much ease with such good breeding.”

Jamie smiled with his eyes closed. “Breeding is a happenstance. His manners are learned and chosen.”

“Then you like him?” she pressed.

“He is handsome,” James agreed. “His constant smile would be difficult to look at otherwise.”

“Jamie,” she giggled. “Be serious.”

He opened his eyes and absorbed her messy, pale blond hair. It was straight and floppy like his own but her skin was fair while his was warmed by the sun. “I like him,” he confirmed. “Between your criteria and mama’s, his character is complete.”

“I do not care about his wealth, you know that.”

“Well that’s good,” he declared. “Because there isn’t enough to induce one to extend such feelings toward his family.”

Her eyes crinkled with her mirth. “Were they truly so unbearable? The Hursts seemed like a fine pair.”

“Diluted waters,” James responded.

Jane pinched his nose. “You’re cruel, Lizzy. They were strangers in a strange place, forced to meet everybody at once. You wouldn’t enjoy the situation if you were in their place.”

“You’re right,” he granted. “But you enjoyed tonight?”

“I was very flattered by his asking me to dance a second time,” she confirmed. “I did not expect such a compliment.”

“Only a second?” He held her gaze. “Jane. He could not help seeing that you were about five times prettier than every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that.”

“Lizzy…” she avoided.

“Compliments always take you by surprise, but never me,” he countered. “He certainly is agreeable, and I give you leave to like him.”

She laughed, “Well thank you, I needed it.”

“I know,” he smirked. She pinched his chin as he added, “Besides, you have liked many stupider people.”

“Lizzy!”

The bed crunched softly against their laughter. After a time, James’ mirth faded against the inquiry, “What did you two discuss outside?”

His lashes were heavy as he blinked, examining her features before he replied. “He kissed me.”

He could see the visible pause in her thoughts. Then, “Oh. Do you think…?”

“No,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ear. “At least, not entirely. If your heart is open to him, let it remain so. I do not think he was aware he did it. These city folk are weak to our wine.”

A smile flashed on her lips but quickly faded. Her fingertips tickled along the edge of his jaw. “Were you all right?”

“Fine,” he chimed softly. “He smells like jasmine and if the kiss was any indicator, he will be a considerate lover. You’ll enjoy him.”

The hand left his face to press against her own embarrassment. He chuckled, “I thought you ought to know. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world is good and agreeable in your eyes. I’ve never heard you speak ill of a human being in my life despite many who deserved it. Even myself.”

“I’ll never think or speak ill of you, Jamie,” she hushed, her cheeks rosy. “I owe you too much.”

“You owe me nothing,” he finished darkly, but just as quickly lightened, “I just wanted you to know he volunteered his lips for a taste. You have my approval.”

“The wine is still in you,” she accused with a smile.

He wiggled gently, adjust his place on the bed. “If that is your strongest effort toward an insult, you’ll have to do better.”

“Tomorrow perhaps,” she laughed breathily. “Once we hear the full assault of mama’s retelling of the ball.”

He exhaled heavily. “Good night.”

“Night,” she concurred.

Their eyes closed together, and opened in what felt like minutes despite it being the following morning. Mrs. Bennet’s voice could be heard singing through the walls. James only sighed as he held Jane’s gaze. Lifting onto his elbow, he kissed her forehead and warned, “I’ll bring you tea, but I can’t withhold mama’s summons for long.”

He tucked the covers so none of the heat escaped and carefully went down the narrow servants’ staircase to the kitchen. A kettle was already on the stove, which he poured into a small pot and loaded a tray with a cup, sugar, and lemon so Jane could have her earl grey in peace. After dropping off the tray, he descended the main stairs to where his mother was arranging a fresh bouquet in the dining room.

“Good morning, dearie,” she sang when he kissed her cheek. The hand on his nape smelled of the lavender branches she was handling.

“Morning, mama.”

“Where is your sister?” she beckoned while fixing his hair. “The two of you normally rise together.”

“She’ll be down soon,” he promised, leaning away from her ministrations. He sniffled against the aromas of bacon and rosemary-spiced eggs.

“Lizzy, are you feeling ill?” she worried. “You shouldn’t have walked home last night.”

“I’ll be fine,” he disregarded, lifting a piece of bacon to his teeth.

His mother slapped it back onto the platter. “Not before we’re gathered! We’ll break our fast like a proper family. Where is your father? Fetch him, would you? Wear your coat, the morning still has its chill.”

“The wooly thing?” he complained but she was pushing him in the direction of the back door coat stand.

“Not a word,” she hushed. “It does its occupation well enough. I do not care how it itches.”

He stepped into the worn boots that stood nearly to his knees as he shrugged on the faded black garment. The collar stood against his nape but it was welcome as the cold fog encompassed him. The moisture glowed yellow with the morning light as he found Mr. Bennet on his way back to the house with a brown wrapped parcel he immediately handed to James. “Look what I have. It’s ready for autumn. These will make lovely additions, yes?”

James pulled the twine and found cinnamon bark and various dried herbs. He lifted them to his face and inhaled. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Mama will want these for her pies,” he said, holding up one of the cinnamon pieces.

“There’s more where these came from,” he assured. A large weathered hand pushed the hair off of his son's face and slid down his neck to the coat collar. “This old thing? Are you feeling unwell?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he disregarded. “Mama’s just worrying.”

“Ah, well. You know she loves you. This comes through in many forms, some of them overbearing. I suppose breakfast is ready if she’s sent you to fetch me. Save one of those rosemary bits for your tea.”

James did so, holding the sprig between his teeth while he retied the parcel and set it on the stairway upstairs before he rejoined his family at the table. He dropped the rosemary in the cup Jane was pouring for him and they proceeded to listen to the predicted dialogue:

“We have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. Jane, you were so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well you looked and Mr. Bingley thought you quite beautiful. He danced with you twice!”

“She was present for them, mama,” James reminded.

She disregarded him. “But _twice!_ Only think of that! She was the only creature in the room he asked a second time. I was so vexed to see him stand up with Miss Lucas, however he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know, and he seemed quite struck with Jane. Then he danced with Miss King, and the fourth with Maria Lucas, and of course myself, and then that Boulanger—”

Mr. Bennet put a stop to this. “For god’s sake, say no more of his partners; should that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance.”

James and Kitty snickered into their toast while Jane patiently weathered her mother’s recollections. She proclaimed, “I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome and his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. The lace upon Mrs. Hurst’s gown—”

Here again Mr. Bennet refused any description of finery. Barred from her preferred topics, she then fell to Mr. Darcy. “So much bitterness of spirit and shocking rudeness,” she exaggerated. “I can assure you all, we do not lose much by not suiting his fancy. He is a most disagreeable, horrid man; not at all worth pleasing.”

“You make it sound as if it were our duty to do so,” James challenged.

“Well certainly not anymore!” she declared. “So high and so conceited was he that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and then he walked there, fancying himself so very great!”

“Could this not be the same as boredom?” Mary suggested quietly. James refilled her teacup easily with one hand, a finger holding the lid in place.

“Bored at a ball!” she bristled. “Such assemblies are not exclusive to us country folk; he hasn’t any excuse! Bless Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst for tolerating him; he is not handsome enough to dance with. I wish you had given him one of your set-downs, dear,” she addressed to her husband. “I quite detest the man.”

“Far be it for me to intrude upon Jane’s courtship,” Mr. Bennet refused. “Mr. Darcy and Bingley have established their friendship and you must navigate around it.”

“Well,” she continued while buttering a scone. “None of the lot’s manners are equal to dear Charles’, but the majority are very pleasing when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother and keep his house. I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbor in her.”

Jane and James exchanged looks but listened in silence.

However it was one of the occasions their mother saw. “Lizzy, what think you of the Bingley sisters?”

“Mama, would you pass the strawberry—” Jane tried to distract but she waved Jane’s voice aside.

“Lizzy?”

He held his mother’s gaze while he finished chewing his bacon and spared a glance to Mr. Bennet before proceeding, “They were fine ladies, sure. Neither was lacking in good humour when they were pleased and both held the power of being agreeable where they chose it. But they are proud and conceited. No amount of handsome qualities or rightly places freckles can forgive their unbearable characteristics.”

“But Jamie, they are highly educated women, and Caroline has at least a fortune of twenty thousand—”

“Indeed,” he curtailed. “They are handsome, have been educated in one of the best private seminaries, are in the habit of spending freeing without concern, and of associating with people of rank. Therefore in every respect they are entitled to think well of themselves, and meanly of everyone else. I am not disillusioned by their fine fabrics. They are a northern family otherwise as bumpkin as us; the only difference is they earned a fortune in trade.”

His mother parted her lips but Mr. Bennet finished, “My love, this is the last we will hear of it.” His tone brokered no argument.

She sighed but ate her scone and continued without an ounce of missing energy. Apparently she had done her duty in reconnaissance the night previous for she unfolded a series of details about the Bingleys: their father had passed away before establishing a family estate but left behind one hundred thousand pounds which Charles intended to use for such a purpose. He was renting Netherfield with this prospect in mind, much with the encouragement of his sisters.

She seemed to have also deduced, or at least convinced herself she had, the reasoning behind his and Darcy’s friendship. “Charles’ easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper,” she insisted. “Despite the greater contrast between them, on the strength of Darcy’s regard, Bingley has the firmest reliance. He considers Darcy’s judgment of the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy is superior, of course…”

“Careful, mama,” James teased. “It might almost sound as if you approve of the man.”

“We must hope for some of his education to come through,” she said over a long sip of tea. James saw she had finished the milk for her tea and passed the second small pitcher over for her to replenish her cup. “Bingley is by no means deficient, but Darcy is clever. This hardly excuses him of his haughty, reserved and fastidiousness, his manners…I find myself agreeing with you, sweet, if not about the Bingley sisters. Though well-bred, he is not inviting. Yes, Charles far has the greater advantage. Bingley was so sure of being liked wherever he appeared last night. Darcy was continually giving offense.”

“Mama, how often did you witness him speak?” Jane challenged.

She patted her eldest’s hand. “It matters not how many times one’s lips part, but what passes when they do—Lydia.”

Her youngest had belched, much to the disgust of Mary beside her. James guffawed with a hand over his mouth while Kitty joined his mirth despite their mother’s chagrin. “Oh, Lizzy, you delight in anything ridiculous. Don’t influence your sisters so.”

Mr. Bennet hardly stifled his own chuckles. “How odd, to cast the blame on someone other than she who belched. It seems Lydia can do no wrong.”

Lydia was the picture of innocence and the table was officially in an uproar.

Once breakfast was finished, Mrs. Bennet announced her intention to visit the Lucases, and insisted upon James’ company. “You know how their younger children adore you. I need you to keep them company so Lady Lucas and I can speak properly. Charlotte will rejoice in your company too.”

“Only so someone else can play governess to her siblings,” he teased, but nonetheless went to wash his face and dress himself appropriately.

“She is twenty-seven,” his mother said beside him, using the mirror to add a bit of red pigment to her lips. “She may well be a governess to somebody soon.”

“She is educated and level-headed enough,” James commended.

His mother’s head tilted as if she had either been distracted or not expecting this from him. “Yes, yes, of course. Now don’t forget your coat. The last thing I’ll be able to bear is you falling ill—oh, Jane! Are you joining us?”

James reentered their shared room where she was tying a sunhat atop her loose blond braid. He reached over her shoulder for his own but…”Where is mine?”

“I think Lydia borrowed it,” Jane supplied while their mother helped her tie it.

“Lydia doesn’t borrow anything,” he complained and went in search of her. It proved easier to simply take it from her and Kitty’s room without direct interaction, and before long, the three of them were walking through Longbourn. That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was more than friendly custom: it was absolutely necessary. Since the latter had worn out the topic amongst her family, Mrs. Lucas and Charlotte were her last resources.

“You began the evening well, Charlotte,” she commended when they finally sat themselves to tea. Charlotte of course said something pleasantly self-demeaning in favour of Bingley’s liking of Jane, to the delight of Mrs. Bennet.

“Oh—you mean—because he danced with her twice…”

James took his leave, then, to carry as many smaller Lucases outside since they had already climbed atop him.

“Jamie! Catch me!” one of the boys sang, and James turned to catch him at the bottom of the stairs between the porch and the ground.

One of Charlotte’s sisters tugged on his arm. “Jamie, our radishes have sprouted! Come see!”

“Am I to be neglected?” Jane laughed, making her escape from the discussion within. The children sang their jubilation and drew the Bennets into the garden where Sir William Lucas welcomed them and waved aside their apologies of intrusion. Together they picked the radishes and the Bennet siblings ushered the children to wash their hands while Charlotte joined them.

“They have moved on to the topic of Lord Darcy, now,” she informed.

“Predictably,” James shared a smile with Jane while petting the Lucas’s hound.

Charlotte sat beside Jane on the stairs, “Lizzy, you didn’t say he had been rude to you. Mama said she overheard Charles suggest to Mr. Darcy that he should converse with you and he outright refused?”

Jane quickly said, “Miss Bingley told me that he never speaks much unless among his intimate acquaintance. With them he is remarkably agreeable.”

“I understand shyness or hesitancy,” Charlotte remarked, “But I wish he had not snubbed Jamie so. A bristled tongue he may have but Jamie is endearing to all those deserving of his kindness.”

Jane cast a worried glance to her brother, who merely gave her a smile while the hound’s tail wagged with frenzy. “Another time, perhaps.”

Charlotte sighed. “His pride does not offend me so much as vanity often does, because there is typically an excuse for it. For him, one cannot wonder how so very fine a young man with family, fortune, everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may express it, he does have a right to be proud.”

Jane scolded, “I beg you would not put it into Lizzy’s head to be vexed by his ill treatment. We shan’t handle his company more than necessary, so Mr. Darcy need not make excuses for himself at all.”

James tugged on her earlobe to calm her. “I’m afraid I agree with you this time. Why should I think ill or highly of somebody who has yet to speak to me directly? You know I’ve never cared much how others view me; more so how their opinions affect my family’s happiness.”

“Pride,” Mary Bennet surprised them by appearing in the house’s doorway, “is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have read, I am convinced that human nature is prone to it. There are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency for some quality or other. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, while vanity is what we would have others think of us.”

In the wake of their silence she came to sit between her siblings. James set his sunhat atop her head to protect her pallor; her complexion was quite red from the walk to catch up with them.

Suddenly one of the young Lucases declared, “If I were as rich as Lord Darcy, I would not care how proud I was! I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine everyday!”

The elders laughed heartily. Charlotte drew her brother into her lap and warned, “Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought, and if I were to see you at it I should take away your bottle directly.”

The younger seemed determined to deny this and press his point until Mrs. Bennet declared herself satisfied from her discussion. The following day Mrs. Bennet made a different pronouncement: they were to call on Netherfield.

“James! You are being unreasonable,” she lamented as the chaise was prepared. The summer’s heat had made a reappearance so the roof was folded down.

“I disagree,” he said patiently albeit tersely.

“It will be considered an offense if you do not join us in welcoming them to Netherfield.”

“What was the Meryton ball?” he questioned.

“The ball would have happened with or without them,” she reasoned. “Now that they have recovered from the festivities, we must play hosts of Longbourn and Meryton.”

He walked her outside where his sisters were already waiting. “I respect the responsibility you have volunteered for but I have my reasons for choosing exclusion.”

“Name them,” she challenged.

“Autumn is upon us and I have errands to attend to. Mr. Robinson asked me to cast more candles for the winter assemblies, as have Mrs. Long and Lucas but I must collect the bees wax from Sir William first. And lastly, papa’s not going, so the need for every Bennet’s attendance is clearly not dire.”

“We were at the Lucas’s yesterday,” she chided. “Why did you not speak with Sir William while we were there?”

“I need to visit the market for more supplies and I thought to visit Sir William on my way back. It is too much of a burden to carry that much wax all over Meryton and Longbourn. I didn't think to get the wax yesterday.”

“Well your chores do come in handy, don’t they?” she finished with a tug on his wool cravat for a kiss on his cheek. He offered his hand to assist her into the carriage while she gave a parting warning: “I best see twenty tapers as tall as the kitchen table when I return. Mr. Bennet’s age may be his excuse but not yours.”

“Then what a joy it will be to grow old,” he called as the chaise started moving. “I may never see the world again.”

“Then I shall be forced to live forever and grip you by the ear!” she answered. He laughed and waved until the carriage was gone within the thicket of trees which extended into the forest they shared with Netherfield Park. Of course Mrs. Bennet’s demands were impossible as he only just managed to finish his errands by midafternoon when he heard the chaise return. He was sitting in the garden beside an old stump, using a nail in the wood to braid thread for wicks when his mother placed a kiss atop his head and was aflutter with old news.

“Positively lovely gentleman! Where’s your father?”

“His study,” he murmured.

“Of course he is,” she huffed as she rushed into the house. Jane, Kitty, and Lydia took her place, the first draping her scarf on his nape where the sun had warmed it red.

“You missed a perfect luncheon,” Lydia said as she landed beside him. She plucked her finger across the wick to garner his attention.

“I think my opinion of perfect varies widely from yours,” he chuckled, “but do tell.”

Kitty supplied while she lounged over the long grass, “At first we feared the worst—”

Lydia finished, “That Darcy bloke was present so clearly we had made every offense just by breathing.”

“Kitty, you’ll stain your dress,” Jane chided mildly. “You’re being over dramatic, Lydia. Mr. Darcy was there to make initial greetings but he left soon after.”

“Yes!” Lydia stormed. “He left! What elevation of disinterest must you have to leave in the middle of luncheon?”

James reminded sternly, “That bloke is a lord, bumpkin. He likely has a slew of priorities even your fluffy head cannot encompass.”

“Well,” she uttered, in a tone which made him know a jape was coming. “Caroline made a comment on _your_ hair when mama made apologies toward your absence. ‘His hair…it is quite asymmetrical, is it not?’ Didn’t she say that, Jane?”

“Many things were said,” Jane disregarded.

“It was, I remember it perfectly, because this was right before Darcy left.”

Kitty complained, “He did not say why he left.”

Lydia concurred, “I keep telling you he is the rudest man! But anyhow, Caroline finds great amusement in your hair—”

“Lizzy likes to part his hair on the side. Her own brother does the same, as does Mr. Darcy,” Jane hushed. "Just because Lizzy's hangs lower on one side does not make it wrong."

“He makes so much fun of my hair, can I not do the same?” she pestered.

“I’m not sure how you can,” Kitty retorted. “Jamie and Jane have the best hair of us all. It’s like all of mama and papa’s good attributes were stored up for them.”

“This isn’t true,” Jane exclaimed. “Mary has beautiful ebony hair.”

Lydia snorted, “And where in the family did she get it? We all have brown or light hair—erh—ERH!”

She flailed against James suddenly clenching her nose between his knuckles. “What are you implying?” he uttered darkly.

“N-Nothing! Ow, Lizzy!”

“Do you not remember mama’s sister? Her hair is like Mary’s. She gets her hair from our grandparents. The only thing setting her apart from us is how a contemplative mind such as hers could have been crafted from the same womb that made your feather-light head.”

“Jamie…” Jane whispered the same moment Lydia dislodged his hand and rose up enough to slap him across the cheek.

“Are you trying to suffocate me?” she erupted.

“This is what I mean,” he growled. “You don’t think. You spend too much time using your mouth to talk, it never occurs to you to breathe through it. Watch your bloody tongue or it will bring us all to ruin, and it will be from something as ludicrously simple as disrespecting your sister. The rest of Longbourn knows us well enough but if you’re not careful, these newcomers will believe something you say, not understanding that you're joking.”

“You’re one to speak of disrespect!” she exclaimed, standing and brushing off her skirts. “You and Mary are of a kind; she abhors anything entertaining and you speak as if you are above us! You ought to join us next time and take Darcy off our hands. The two of you may get along, yet. You’re so very proud for being so very poor.”

She left them, her loose curls bobbing behind her. James tied off the wick by crimping a metal wire around it, and started a new one as if his cheekbone was not blooming scarlet. Kitty shuffled close to him, one of her knuckles lightly brushing the wound—

“KITTY!” Lydia yelled from the house.

She floundered slightly, glancing over her shoulder and back at James, but his lack of response spurred her to rush to the house. Jane was silent for a long time. Then, “You didn’t have to say it quite like that.”

“Was I wrong?” he countered quietly.

She sighed, “No, but to force the issue will only make Lydia believe she is more correct.”

“Then we are all to watch her fall into her own ruin, is that it?”

“Do not attack me,” she almost whispered.

His hands stilled and his head finally lifted. His eyes closed heavily. “I’m sorry.”

He felt her weight fall against him, her head finding the familiar bend of his shoulder and neck as her arm came around his waist. “I know you mean well, I do. I don’t know how to watch over Lydia any better than the rest of us already do.”

“There may be nothing we can do,” he uttered, turning the threads once more, “except let Lydia dive over the cliff’s edge.”

“You don’t mean that,” she said against his hair.

“Well I haven’t any better ideas,” he huffed. He set the braid down and rubbed his eyes. Turning his head, he kissed her hair and tried to say on a lighter note, “So, Bingley? Has he fallen in love with you again?”

This drew a laugh from her. “Hardly. Quite the other way around…his patience with mother and our sisters is incredibly admirable.”

“We already knew this,” he said, leaning his weight against hers.

“It’s different now, without the wine or the comfort of strangers. Nothing has changed in him. He’s invited us to dine with him again this week.”

“Then you have a dress to iron,” he proffered a smile.

“You won’t be coming?”

“I’ll only be in the way.”

“I don’t think so,” she urged.

He rubbed the arm that was on his waist. “You’ll be marvelous without me. You needn’t even try. Charles Bingley is already smitten.”

And so with his comforting words, Jane and Mrs. Bennet dined with the Bingleys two nights afterward, and then collected three more evenings so a fortnight had passed with it seeming like they were at Netherfield every other day.

The air had officially turned with the changing of the season despite the summer’s enduring heat during midday. Charlotte Lucas had come to the Bennet’s home with a delivery of extra bees wax as well as to aid in his craft. The cook and kitchen aid had taken the day off to allow him the room’s use. Charlotte plucked the stems off of sage leaves while remarking on the current events of Mr. Bingley.

“I must admit, our opinion of his sisters has gone up. Their kindness toward Jane cannot be ignored. He _does_ admire her, after all, but I daresay Jane is at a disadvantage of being so guarded.”

“What do you mean?” he said from the stove, stirring the pale wax with a wooden spoon’s handle. He waved his hand in the air, bringing the aroma to his nose before dispensing two more drops of oil and a stick of cinnamon into the pot.

“Well there are very few of us who have the heart to be really in love without encouragement. For all his smiles, Charles is reaching into thin air. Jane must _show_ more affection than she feels—”

“More than she feels?” James grimaced with perplexity. “She _feels_ enough for the man. Just because she does not throw herself at him like Lydia might does not mean she is without love for him.”

“I only mean,” Charlotte reiterated, “that he might never do more than like her if she does not help him on. Bingley _does_ like her, undoubtedly; I was there for the past two dinners, but he does not know her as well as we do.”

“She displays her affection as well as her nature allows,” James said, joining her at the central counter to pull rosemary leaves off the branches. “He must be a simpleton to not see it.”

“Please hear me,” she pestered. “He is not the same as you, Lizzy. Despite having five sisters he only brought _two_ with him here; one of whom is married and likely does not spend the full year with him, while the other spends more time dictating her brother’s thoughts instead of knowing them. You have spent your entire life with Jane, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, with no barriers to stop each other from knowing your true characters or how you display affection. Perhaps Charles will learn Jane’s affections if he spends enough time with her…but it is never alone. They always see each other in large, mixed parties, so it is impossible for them to truly learn about one another; to have the leisure of falling in love.”

“Given his status, I doubt this will happen,” James uttered. “Especially with Caroline and mama in attendance. Perhaps the latter will allow it but Caroline won’t let her brother out of her sight. Even when he managed to escape her at the Meryton ball, it was only for a few minutes.”

“You enabled this, didn’t you?” she remembered, handing him the sage while he returned to the stove. “Could you not spare an evening to help her?”

“I best not.”

“Why _not?”_ she demanded tiredly.

“I won’t be another Caroline in her life,” he could not help but laugh. “When all is said and done, Jane will be married to Charles, not Caroline, no more than Charles will be married to me.” He paused, if nothing else than to stir the second pot of wax. “Jane is everything she needs to be for Charles to love her, and if he does not, if Caroline affects him to the point of changing his heart, then he was never worthy of her in the first place. I cannot meddle now or else I will be forced to meddle forever.

“And why shouldn’t she be hesitant if she is concealing her feelings?” he added suddenly, turning back to her. “This is a lot of fuss over a fortnight whereas the consequence lasts for a lifetime. She is more than logical to be hesitant. Some dances and a handful of dinners are not enough to make a person want to marry the other.”

“They’re hardly _just_ eating food together,” Charlotte argued, whipping the tail of a tea towel against his hip. “An evening can do a great deal in learning one’s mind, and they have had four. Four evenings can do a great deal.”

“It has been enough for him to keep inviting her,” James returned.

Charlotte sighed, “I wish Jane success with all my heart, then. And if she were married to him tomorrow I would think she had as good a chance of real happiness as if she decided upon it after a year of study.”

James set the spoon down and met her gaze. “You feel strongly in this? They could really be happy?”

“Well,” Charlotte replied guardedly. “Happiness in marriage is often a matter of chance, but when the individuals match so well together as Bingley and Jane do, there is a positive outlook. However now is the time to act, not wait. The better to grow together so you suit one another down the road instead of discovering faults which cannot be overcome. In fact it may be better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.”

James stared at her, waiting to see a break in her expression. When none came he guffawed anxiously. “You make me laugh, Charlotte, but I would never wish such a fate on any of my sisters. I prefer to know someone thoroughly to avoid wasting my time on them. I thought you and I shared this.”

“Yes, and it has made me a spinster,” Charlotte grumbled. James smiled consolingly as he moved one of the pots to the central counter. Charlotte aligned the glass jars otherwise reserved for jams and marmalades for him. With the wicks tied along another wooden spoon, she dipped the braided threads into the wax and set it above a sheet of paper to catch the drips. He had already prepared several large taper molds, though, which rested on the floor.

“Ready?” Charlotte prompted, holding the wick up, and he carefully poured wax into the tin cylinder.

“Let it solidify some and then you can let go of the wick,” he instructed.

She held the next wick for him while he poured. “How do you do this on your own? There are six more molds.”

He pulled the waiting wicks out and revealed the ends had been tied to wooden skewers, which he then laid across the top of the cylinders. “Like so.”

“All right, sir, don’t be keen,” she retorted, making him laugh. “Tie these as well so I won’t have to hold them, then.”

He set the large pot down and did so. Charlotte huffed a breath and shoved her fringe out of the way. “So if a wooden stick can take my place in even this, what am I to do?”

His expression was apologetic as he set a mortar and pestle on the counter. “You can grind the herbs, if you like.”

She took up the task with gusto. “Would that my mother had shown as much relish in pairing me off as yours does for your sisters.”

“You must not think this way,” he consoled. “Marriage may grant wings to some but it just as easily binds them to the earth. You could avoid the gamble and fly on your own.”

“It’s not about liberty or money, Lizzy,” she sighed. The corners of his mouth lowered as her tone became heavy with fatigue…sadness. “Sky or earth, I don’t care which. But I can’t bear to be there alone. Eventually my siblings will stop being little ones and will succeed where I have failed.”

He stood against the counter for a long while, and in the end did not say much more throughout the afternoon. Not until he lay alone with Jane in their room and retold the conversation to her.

“Seven and twenty is a frightening age for a woman,” Jane agreed with a laugh. “You have the liberty to be a bachelor your entire life, but society does not think it seemly for a woman to follow the same path.”

“All for the sake of having children,” he scoffed. “What if Charlotte does not want children?”

Jane giggled. “The way she adores her siblings, do you really think she doesn’t? A woman’s body is a clock winding backwards.”

“Mama had Kitty and Lydia well within her thirties, though,” he said. “She did not have you until she was twenty-seven, herself.”

“But she was married to papa for a number of years first,” Jane reminded. “The only reason we did not each arrive sooner was because of his travels. And they had already courted one another. You can’t expect Charlotte to meet and consummate a husband all before her next birthday.”

He had to relinquish this point. The pad of her finger tapped his jaw. “You are good to worry for her.”

“She is another sister to us. You know that.”

“I do,” she smiled softly. She changed topic. “The last I saw Mr. Bingley, he asked for you. He wondered why so many Bennets had been to see him, all except you.”

James was silent a moment. “He shouldn’t want to see me again.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” she wondered. “Jamie, you haven’t any friends besides Charlotte.”

“He shouldn’t desire my company over yours,” he said more adamantly.

“And what makes you think he does?” she interrogated mischievously. “He could have simply been polite in desiring your attendance. He’s asked for you but once. According to mama, the numbers matter greatly.”

He smirked gently as his eyelids grew heavy. “Greatly.”

“Lydia and Kitty are planning to go into town tomorrow to see our aunt and uncle. She will be reminded of Aunt’s dark hair soon enough.”

He chuckled, “You’re still worrying over that? I am not expecting acknowledgement from her. Lydia will be too consumed with Aunt’s hat shop to notice whatever color her hair is.”

Jane giggled the same moment the family’s cat made its appearance on their bed. It jumped up with a slight _hush_ of sound, her blue eyes aglow as she silently found her place on Jamie’s chest. He stroked the white fur and pale grey ears while slumber consumed him.

The rest was much needed, for the next morning Lydia and Kitty set off early only to return with fervent news: the regiments were in Meryton. James’ head sagged on his shoulders, already exhausted by Lydia’s chirping but he had to admit, “At least her energies are focused on something.”

Lydia was harping on a certain Colonel Forster or a Captain Carter—James preferred his cauliflower stew to either—when she was interrupted by a letter arriving for Jane. Mrs. Bennet had not so much a glimpse of the sender address before she ushered, eyes glittering, “Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Jane! Make haste and tell us. Make haste, my love.”

“It’s from Miss Bingley,” Jane calmed, and read aloud:

_“My dear friend,_

_“If you are not so compassionate as to dine with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day’s tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers._

_“Yours ever,_

_“Caroline Bingley.”_

“How is an extra woman going to stop the other two from arguing?” James puzzled.

“With the officers!” Lydia exclaimed instead.

Mrs. Bennet, however, frowned. “Dining out…that is very unlucky.”

“Can I have the carriage?” Jane requested. James peered outside, where the sky had been heavily overcast all morning.

“No, my dear,” Mrs. Bennet answered. “You had better go on horseback. That way you will have to stay the night.”

James’ head whipped back in her direction. “Horseback?”

“Yes, Lizzy. I cannot speak for everyone but I believe it is when one rides on a horse’s back.”

He disregarded that and replied, “Will they not offer to send her home afterward?”

“But they cannot,” Mrs. Bennet chimed sweetly, “if the men are in their own carriage at Meryton.”

“With the officers,” Lydia grumbled jealously.

Jane’s eyes were on the sky outside as she interrupted, “I would much rather go by coach, mama.”

“Even so, the horses cannot be spared from the farm, can they, Mr. Bennet?”

Their father was in the midst of rising from the table to return to the very work about which she inquired. “We must finish before the rain falls so we cannot do without the horses. I’m sorry, Jane. We can spare one for you, but not enough to pull the chaise.”

Jane exhaled quietly, folding the letter back to its original state whereas James declared, “Here’s a savage concept: don’t go.”

“James!” Mrs. Bennet had never appeared more appalled.

“If the Bingleys are so esteemed to need Jane’s company on a day like today, they can ride their own purebreds over here.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled. “And they can all listen to your silly sisters twitter about the regiments. It is almost better to let Jane go.”

This was all Mrs. Bennet needed. No sooner had Jane left then the sky unleashed upon them. Jane did indeed stay the night, and it was approximately the same time the next morning when another letter was delivered, this time for James. The messenger waited patiently for a reply, nearly soaked through by the rain that had yet to end.

James tore through the letter furiously, his eyes absorbing every word as Mrs. Bennet gave the messenger a hot cuppa to warm himself.

_“I find myself very unwell this morning,_ ” he read, _“which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet-through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones—”_

He looked up at Mr. Bennet. “Isn’t that Meryton’s apothecary?”

“Oh love,” Mrs. Bennet hushed, reading over his shoulder. "She says just here, that she is only including this information since we are likely to hear of it somehow, and she wishes us not to worry. Nothing but a sore throat and a headache.”

The spoon of Mr. Bennet’s tea chimed loudly as he lifted the cup to his lips. “Well, if our daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness and die, it will be a comfort to know it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”

Her lips pursed. “People do not die of trifling colds. I am not at all afraid of her dying—oh, Jamie.”

He had thrust the paper into her hands and rushed into the kitchen for essential items. He reappeared in the dining room just as swiftly. “You can’t mean—how can you be so silly in all this mud! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there!”

“I will be fit enough to see Jane,” he snapped, shoving his arms through the woolen sleeves of his coat. He pushed past the stunned messenger, the door clattering against the house in his haste.

“So would I, if I could have the carriage,” she complained to no one.


	4. Six Inches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Nothing like a crisis to make one decide to try and upload 30 chapters U______U I know most people are camping here, but I'm more active on pondermoniums.com. New chapter just went up there yesterday.
> 
> Charles Dickens is briefly mentioned in this chapter. Realistically, he was at the end of the 1800s while Austen was at the beginning, but I had Christmas vibes. Just pretend I uploaded this in time for the holidays~

James had never been to Netherfield House. At least, not under invitation. As a boy he would pull Jane onto the estate grounds during the day—when there was no one renting it, there was no one to say otherwise. The gardeners held no qualms over two children playing; if anything, their laughter was welcomed, and in the darkness of night the single guardsman was easily avoided during their explorations. No one cared whether two children wished to see the luxury they would never themselves have.

All that seemed far away now, another lifetime as James leaped clear over a brook and felt a puddle’s splash soak into his trousers. He kept running, seeing the pale façade appearing through the trees until his boots tread over fine gravel instead of mud and grass. The fingers of branches reached for his hair and coat but he was soon clear of them as the rain finally began to ebb. By the time he took the curved, white stairs two at a time up to the double doors, the servants had already dried off the terrace banisters.

The footmen took in his appearance with a critical and dubious eye, however the doors parted for James without a word. The memories of this place drifted to the forefront of his mind, calculating the house’s recipients to be breaking their fast in one of the main parlors instead of the large dining room…

Again, the footmen opened the path for him, and James rounded the columned entrance of the room in his filthy and dripping state, much to the shock of the butler and maids present—

Of the people sitting at the table, Mr. Darcy was the one who shot to his feet. James could only imagine how he looked: the worn black coat fell to his mid-thighs while the collar lying high on his neck must have given him the visage of a beggar. Though his trousers were tucked within his boots he had been through kilometers of mud and grit; he did not know whether his sodden hair rested flat against his cheeks or stood in frizzy licks. And after running all the way here…he must have appeared every bit a mad man.

He realized, suddenly, that his jaw was stiff and trembled slightly from the cold. He steeled himself to say, “May I see my sister?”

Charles Bingley glanced between him and Mr. Darcy, his mouth unsure whether to gape or stay shut. Finally he settled with, “Yes, of course. Show him to Miss Bennet’s room, please.”

The butler appeared to be the least willing person to allow James anywhere else in the house, but he complied. As soon as he was out of the room, Mrs. Hurst uttered, “Is he here before the messenger’s returned?”

“That hardly matters,” Caroline declared. “His boots look as if they’ve been six inches deep in mud! Darcy?”

The man blinked, and found his seat once more.

“Do take care to walk along the marble and not the carpets,” the butler requested stiffly. James did so but more as a second thought as he was nearly walking ahead of the butler in his haste to reach their destination. It was some consolation that Jane’s door looked out over the vast foyer on one side and her room opened to a terrace on the other, so it was well ventilated. But no sooner had the butler turned the knob then James swept inside, startling a frighteningly pale Jane.

“Jamie!” she gasped, but with immense relief, as if she had been waiting for him. She struggled to sit up but reached for him. “Oh Jamie…your hands are ice. You look like an absolute fright.”

One of his hands parted from hers to feel the moisture on her temple and throat. “You’re feverish, Jane.”

“I didn’t wish to concern you or everyone else,” she admitted as he eased her back onto her pillows. “I suppose I failed any how. Now I’ve gotten you ill as well. Take off that sodden coat.”

He looked to the fireplace, whose embers burned low. “And hang it over what fire? Have they done nothing for you?”

She laughed tiredly as he set to work over the embers. “They’ve done a great deal for me, Lizzy—Lizzy! Your boots and trousers…”

From his wet pockets he dispensed various parcels and jars, one of which he unloaded into the growing flames. The room filled with the aroma of piney rosemary and eucalyptus. He stood to plunge dried mint leaves in the metal kettle on the bedside dresser for her tea.

“Your shirt too,” Jane urged. “Jamie, I can see your shoulder blades, take the thing off! You’re fit to keel over any minute.”

Mechanically he did as she bid, but he did not pause until the room was fit to his standards. From the pitcher of water he dampened a cloth for Jane’s forehead to remain cool while her body sweated through the fever. By her request he had finally removed his trousers and boots which were surely caked in mud. Left in his pants, he stopped for breath, and voiced, “Mama said Netherfield was only two kilometers…”

Jane laughed over her tea. “Yes, I discovered the same. It seems Netherfield is closer to five kilometers’ distance. Mertyon is what’s two kilometers away.”

“Huh…” he voiced softly. Jane managed to flip the covers on the other side of the bed open for him to fall into, and he slept.

When he awoke, the sunlight had changed and Jane was picking leaves out of his hair. “You’re a mess,” she whispered.

He blinked heavily, observing the indigo shadows around her eyes. “You have not slept enough.”

“No, but my fever’s broken, thanks to your stubbornness,” she smiled. “Thank you for coming.”

He sniffled only to find his sinuses quite full. “There was no way of you getting better here. You need a touch of home to heal.”

She huffed, “It does smell like it now, with the rosemary. All that’s missing is mama’s lavender. This house is so minimally used it only smells of paint and…” She yawned, “Things I do not recognize.”

“Gold leaf and silk,” he teased.

“I have yet to see either of those things,” she rebuked. “Charles visited while you slept.”

James’ eyelids drooped to half-mast. “And that is why you haven’t.”

She smiled guiltily but then revealed. “Lord Darcy came too. You must have given them such a scare at breakfast.”

“Have they taken my boots away for burning?”

Her eyebrows lifted as she shook her head. “No one’s touched your raiment. On the contrary, Charles brought his own garments for you to wear to dinner if you’re feeling well enough.”

He sighed raggedly. “I must dine with these people…if nothing else than out of courtesy for letting you stay here.”

“I am not so much of a nuisance,” she defended, “but yes, you must. Charles said dinner was at five o’clock.”

“When is that?”

She leaned high enough to see over the mountainous covers at the clock on the mantle. “Twenty minutes.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, flipping the covers over his head. He roused a moment later, though, and put more eucalyptus leaves over the fire to clear his and Jane’s sinuses while he dressed. “Cotton,” he remarked upon sliding his arms through Bingley’s dress shirt. “How middle-class of them.”

Jane peered at him from where she rested upon the piled pillows. “You’re not going to be this way during dinner, are you?”

“An arse, you mean?”

“If I was inclined, yes,” she confirmed.

He laughed and finished buttoning the soft material to his throat. Bingley’s dark green breeches were a material James could not identify; a luxurious blend of some sort which he buttoned around his hips. After tying the satin cravat of blue and green paisley design, he sat down to clean his boots. Enough cloths had been provided for Jane’s fever, so he used them now to scrape and collect the clumps from the worn riding boots. One of the kerchiefs was enough for this purpose, and then a second with oil removed the last of the grit. When Jane was not looking he tossed them behind a log to burn into nothing.

“Now then?” he requested. He stood straight for her inspection.

She smiled. “You look like a lord.”

His shoulders slumped. “Be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not? All you’re missing is the waistcoat, but I think they will excuse it.”

“Well according to Mr. Darcy, lacking all of the pieces can get one eliminated from an assembly,” he remembered while straightening the cravat.

She breathed for patience. “Give them another chance, Jamie. Please?”

He ceased fiddling with the cravat and leaned over to kiss her forehead. He felt her hand on his chest. “Send for me if you need anything. Anything, Jane.”

“Yes, yes,” she pushed him toward the door. “Currently I need you to thank our hosts for their hospitality.”

He shut the door behind him and the butler was waiting for him at the end of the corridor. To James’ surprise, he was led to the original breakfast parlor. The room was aglow with the late sun’s orange light while the maids were lighting the first candles for the evening. This time Charles sprang to his feet.

“James! I’m so pleased to see you on your feet. You seemed fit to fall off them last I saw you.”

Charles shook James’ hand with both of his own, his skin cool to the touch. “You clean up remarkably well!”

James laughed. “I owe everyone my apologies.”

“Hush,” Charles assured, moving his hands to James’ arms. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“Especially in such fine colors,” Caroline said from the table. “Your cravat certainly does suit him, Charles. It softens the severity of his eyes.”

James blinked. _Severity?_

He then had the acute experience of having Charles’ blue eyes trained on him. “Severity? Caroline, you sound as if you’ve never seen grey eyes before.”

“Grey eyes, assuredly,” she commented. “But none quite so pale.”

Charles’ mouth formed an upside-down crescent. “Pale on occasion, perhaps, but not so now. Darcy? What say you?”

Charles stepped aside and revealed Mr. Darcy not a step behind him. James could hear his mother’s voice in his head. _My word, his height...but what handsome features._ The evening light shined through the man’s eyes, which saw from a view a head taller than either James or Mr. Bingley, revealing them to be far from a dark color; they were a rich amber, molten gold if the light had not cast them an orange hue.

“They were brightened by the exercise,” he said in his soft baritone. And that was all.

James blinked, and looked to Charles, who laughed. “Come, I know you’re famished.”

James found himself seated between Charles and Mr. Hurst. The ovular table lent a far more casual atmosphere than he expected; James sat opposite Mr. Darcy, with Caroline and Louisa to the left and right. James mutely watched a selection of dishes being set down: broccoli and cheese stew, ragout, lamb cutlets, and glazed pears. James dipped his spoon into the stew and was relishing the creaminess with a unique, salty tang of cheese when Charles asked, “How is she?”

He was caught with broccoli in his cheeks but quickly swallowed to say, “Her fever’s broken but she needs vegetables. Dark ones, preferably…like this broccoli.”

He shoveled more into his mouth. His eyelashes swept up to see Charles call the butler to him and assure Jane had such requirements for her own supper. Mrs. Hurst gripped his attention, “You like the soup, Mr. Bennet?”

He chewed quickly, covering his mouth just in case. “I do. It’s delicious, thank you.”

“I’m curious,” Charles voiced, “why you specified dark vegetables.”

“I’m hardly an apothecary or botanist,” James admitted, “but lighter ones seem to be only water and fiber. When we were ill as children, our mother always fed us the darkest vegetables she could find, and we were better within a short number of days.”

“Mrs. Bennet?” Caroline chimed. Her smile gleamed like a cat’s after achieving the mouse. “How wonderful that she attended you all in place of a governess.”

James chose not to respond to that, and did not need to for Charles spoke next: “What else would you prescribe? I’ve sent for Mr. Jones and he should be here on the morrow.”

Caroline stated, “I don’t understand why poor Jane should wait till tomorrow. Is everyone in Longbourn and Mertyon ill? I told you we ought to send for a proper physician in London.”

“Then I should think we would be waiting a week instead of a day,” James chuckled.

Caroline was without mirth as she inquired coolly, “What would you say Mr. Jones’ credentials are, since you are familiar with the man?”

James had to think back to when he had last interacted with the man. “I would say his specialty is children’s maladies. He is quite passionate for falconry and is thus skilled at setting fine bones, such as within hands or when children’s energies result in dislocations or fractures.”

“The injuries of farmers,” she surmised. “Not the ailments of the weather.”

James reached for a bread roll so he would not be required to speak. Charles continued to voice his joy that he had come, though, and that he was sure between he and Mr. Jones, Jane was sure to feel better soon.

“Are you often in Meryton?” he asked after a time.

James nodded. “My mother has a sister there. She and her husband are the Philips. She owns a miller’s shop while he is an attorney.”

“A hat shop!” Caroline brightened. “What a charming enterprise.”

James was caught off guard by Mr. Hurst. “You do not like the ragout, Mr. Bennet?”

He stared at the man for a blunt moment before he looked at the abandoned portion on his plate. “It is not to my tastes, no, but I much prefer stews…”

Mr. Hurst had looked away halfway through is answer. James wanted to explain how he simply wanted more cumin in the dish but his wife reclaimed his attention.

“Have you any family in the city?” Louisa asked.

“My other aunt,” he nodded, reaching for his cup. “She and her husband, Mr. Gardiner.”

“Whereabouts?” she furthered.

James much preferred when the sisters were worrying about Jane. “Cheapside,” he finished, gulping his water.

Silence. Then Caroline changed topics, providing James with the quietude he needed for the rest of the meal. The glazed pears were delicious but when everyone stood at supper’s completion he found himself already at the door when Charles called, “Jamie! Won’t you join us for coffee in the library?”

“Have you tasted coffee?” Caroline asked while rounding the table. Her fingers slid along its surface until she crossed behind Mr. Darcy to take his arm. “It is an acquired taste.”

“Hardly,” Charles laughed as he approached James. “It is bitter, but nothing a little milk won’t cure. If nothing else, assist me in picking a volume or two to bring up to Jane.”

Unable to argue, James felt himself drawn into the next room: a rectangular space he originally thought to be oddly small for such an estate, smaller still with furnishings. The walls were paneled with lush wood while numerous windows provided natural light during the day. A number of bookshelves had been added which stood approximately to his hip, their tops performing as a platform for bouquets which added a floral aroma to the burning wood in the fireplace.

James noted how Caroline preferred a glass of sour wine as the butler poured coffee for the others. She broke from Mr. Darcy to direct his attention to the nearest bouquet. “How do you like them? Are you familiar with this bloom?”

“Paeoniaceae,” he murmured, more so under his breath than for her ears. Louder he provided the answer she sought, “This is a bulb flower. They are not in season.”

“Peonies. We acquired them from a green house in the area,” she chimed. “The flower can be fooled to behave out of season if the temperatures and humidity are manipulated properly.”

“How cruel,” he said, quieter still. She peered at him as if she might have heard him or thought him odd for mumbling but he lowered himself in order to read the spines.

He heard the conversation behind him as if a wall divided them, until the benevolent charm of Charles’ voice broke through his reverie. “You’re acquiring quite a pile. You’re welcome to borrow them, but I do hope the state of Jane’s malady has not made you grab so many.”

James peeked up to see a cup lined with copper being held out to him. Standing up, he accepted it and smelled an aroma of which he had never the pleasure of breathing. “This is coffee?” he exclaimed in an awed hush.

Charles laughed. “I went ahead and added milk to cut the acidity,” then he leaned close enough to whisper, “I quite prefer it with sugar.”

“What is it made from?” James queried, too busy enjoying its smell to taste it.

“Beans,” Charles grinned. “Well, berries, actually. However they must be roasted before they are ground up and put to hot water similar to tea.”

Jamie uttered wistfully, “This would be such a nice smell in the candles.”

The copper head tilted to one side slightly, before realization dawned in those blue eyes. _“You made those?_ The cedar tapers from the assembly?”

He took the cup from James’ hand and set it on the bookshelf before he was pulled from the room by the wrist. “I’ll have a parcel sent to you! How much do you think you will need?”

He neglected Caroline’s urgent summons and led James through an alternate set of doors than those returning to the breakfast parlor. Outside of the library, Charles said to a maid, “Bring up some of the coffee beans for Mr. Bennet to examine.”

James was observing the tranquil darkness of the room in which the grand staircase climbed the walls above their heads. A cup not unlike the vessel James never managed to taste arrived, and he held one of the unique spheres while Mr. Darcy emerged from the library. “Charles—”

James put it in his mouth, arresting Bingley’s attention entirely while he chewed. “Hm!” he chimed.

“It’s good?” Charles said incredulously.

“It’s…grainy,” he elaborated. “I wish I had the chocolate my father brought home long ago to pair with it. You said it can be steeped like tea?”

Charles grinned like a fool as he took James’ hand again. “Let’s just watch them brew another pot!”

 _“Charles,”_ Darcy uttered firmly. He turned to face his friend, who said, “Now is not the time. You are the host here.”

“And I’m hosting,” he replied cheerily, but James felt the stiffness pushing the words out. “Caroline is older than me, so she is already trained to last through a good deal of time without me.”

James cut in, “I do not want to be the ignition of a dispute. I meant to retire any how.” He handed the cup back to Bingley and lifted the stack of books under his arm. “Thank you for indulging me as well as letting me stay in Jane’s company. I’ll have these returned promptly—”

“There is no rush,” Bingley insisted. “Let me see you to the terrace. A set of stairs will take you directly to the upper veranda and to her room.”

“Charles, no,” Darcy counteracted.

Bingley’s steps halted once more as he looked back, silently pleading. Darcy was immovable. He turned back to James, and gently held his forearms. “Just outside and to the left. You will find your way.”

His demeanor was sullen but resolved as he returned to Darcy and continued on through the library’s doors. James turned toward the doors of the terrace Charles had directed him to, but Darcy’s prolonged presence gave him pause. He turned back, but the dark shoulders were to him and were passing through the library doors.

James turned once again to the terrace, but his own name held him in place. “I do wish you would stop this, Charles. Mr. Bennet has nothing to recommend him of our company.”

“Except being an excellent walker,” Mrs. Hurst joined her sister with a brief laugh.

Mr. Darcy spoke next, “I do not believe he walked so much as ran.”

Caroline’s mirth was high pitched. “He did indeed, Lord Darcy! I could hardly keep my countenance this morning! It was very nonsensical to come at all! Why must _he_ be scampering over the country because his sister has a cold. My word, his hair was so untidy, so blowsy!”

“It was a bit more than a cold, Carol,” Bingley voiced. “Jane had a fever all of the evening she came and all night. It only ceased once Jamie arrived.”

 _“Jamie,”_ Caroline scoffed. “Your familiarity with him is distasteful, Charles.”

“Never mind,” Louisa intercepted. “I can understand his need for haste but the state of his attire… He was absolutely oblivious.”

“This is all lost upon me,” Charles declared. “I thought Jamie looked remarkably well when he came into the room this morning. The state of his boots or hair escaped my notice.”

“To walk the three kilometers, or four kilometers, or five, or whatever it is, above his ankles in dirt, and quite alone! It seems to be to show an abominable sort of conceited affection or some other which is indifferent to decorum.”

“It shows an affection for his sister that is very pleasing,” Charles defended.

Caroline said, “You observed it, Lord Darcy. You seemed quite in awe of his visage when he arrived. After some reflection, I am inclined to think you do not hold the same regard of Mr. Bennet’s fine eyes as you once did.”

“You are wrong,” James heard him say. “There is a unique pleasure a pair of fine eyes give when set within a pretty face. It is a shame the eldest Bennet does not share her bother’s eyes.”

Caroline was decidedly silent. Until, “Well there we have it then, Charles. If nothing else, the eldest and least obnoxious Bennets have earned a modicum of regard. When shall we wish you joy?”

Darcy answered first, “That is exactly the question I expected you to ask. A lady’s imagination is very rapid. It jumps from admiration to love, and from love to matrimony in a moment. There is no reason to wish anyone joy.”

“Nay, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled,” Caroline teased with bristles on her tongue. “Charles, you will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, of whom you may always expect to be wherever Jane is.”

Mrs. Hurst sighed. “I do have an excessive regard for Jane. She is a very sweet girl and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”

“With one uncle working as an attorney in Meryton and another doing who-cares-what in Cheapside?” Caroline all but barked. She and Louisa chortled.

James left them to their ramblings. The night air along the terrace was fresh from the rain as he jogged up the stairs and identified Jane’s door. Jane was asleep when he carefully opened the French doors and set the books on the coverlet in order to attend the fire. He stoked the embers up into small, sustainable flames—

“How was dinner?” He turned to find her gazing at him. She smiled, “The stew was good, I thought.”

Instead of replying he came to sit beside her, feeling her forehead…and throat… “Jane. You’re burning up.”

“Mm hm,” she uttered weakly.

“Why didn’t you send for me?” he growled, tearing at the knot of his cravat as he sought his wool coat. Rummaging through the pockets he found what he was looking for: a jar of vinegar with lemon rind and basil leaves infused within.

Jane grimaced. “Not the vinegar.”

“Yes the vinegar,” he said firmly while stuffing the copper kettle from her bedside into the embers. “You’ve brought this upon yourself. I could have kept the fever at bay.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt your evening,” she murmured softly, her face glistening.

“You wouldn’t have been disrupting anything that oughtn’t be interrupted,” he huffed, pouring more water from the pitcher into the kettle. As steam began to wind its way out of the spout, Jane noticed the books on the bed.

“Will you read for me?”

He made a sound in his chest as he opened the glass jar and let the contents splash into the kettle. Jane’s nose wrinkled as he pulled the kettle from the fire and poured a cup for her. “You’re to drink this all before you sleep again.”

“The pot?” she gaped, her pallor giving her a horrified visage.

“The pot,” he confirmed, holding out the cup. “Best get started.”

He draped another cool cloth over her forehead and removed his boots, socks, and trousers before climbing back in beside her. She began to move near him, inducing him to retort, “Don’t come over here when the pot is on your side!”

“Then nestle it within the covers,” she responded. Her voice was growing weaker with every sentence she spoke. James did just as she said, the kettle nestled beside his hip while Jane moved to recline against his chest. “What are we reading?”

He showed her each of the covers. “I have a pair of volumes on botanicals…”

“Oh, Jamie,” she huffed with mirth. “Four daughters, and you were the one papa would find with flowers in his hair. He would have to carry you back because you had fallen asleep in the Lucerne fields, do you remember?”

Jamie sighed and set aside the books while holding up the rest like playing cards for her inspection. “This one seems to be a record of discussions in a French salon, a few penny dreadfuls, and a novel of some sort. Do you know Dickens?”

Her hair was soft against his chin as she shook her head. “Mary might know. Read it.”

The tight leather binding creaked when he opened it as if it had never been read. He read the title page and its dedication, the way Jane liked before he began. “Drink your tonic,” he chided while refilling the two sips she had taken.

“Yes yes,” she hummed pleasantly. “Go on.”

So he did, reading the first part and nearly the second but a knock sounded on the glass doors. The siblings looked up and Jane waved for Charles...and Mr. Darcy to enter behind him. “Sorry to disturb,” the former greeted. “Caroline and Louisa have retired to bed but they insisted I check—I mean, of course I would have anyway, but—well—are you well, Jane?”

“I’m afraid my fever has made an energetic return,” she said apologetically.

Charles appeared crestfallen as he looked between she and James. “I shouldn’t have insisted you come to dinner. I am so sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known,” James disregarded, “but if you were preparing a separate room for me, I must stay here.”

“Of course!” Charles exclaimed. “Far be it for I to take away the closest thing to an apothecary we have. Am I furthering the malady by imposing upon you?”

“No, you could never, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, a smile in her voice.

He was visibly warmed by her words. “How often have I asked that you call me Charles? Which of the books did you settle on, Jamie?”

 _“A Christmas Carol,_ by Charles Dickens,” he answered, holding up the cover. “We’ve nearly finished the first stave.”

Darcy’s lips frowned. “It’s quite out of season.”

“Nonsense!” Charles sang. “I tormented my governess by having her bake me mince pies all year round. A dose of festive cheer may be just the thing we all need. May we join you?”

The way James’ innards plunged, he wondered if Jane had accidentally elbowed his abdomen. “I am by no means a good reader.”

Jane perked up, “I don’t think so.”

“I mumble.”

“Articulately,” she countered, and waved a gentle hand. “By all means, Mr. Bingley, my lord,” she added for Darcy.

Charles all but dashed out of the room to personally carry two chairs for himself and Darcy. When they were seating themselves, James wondered, “You seem knowledgeable of the story, Charles?”

“Oh yes!” he sang. “It was my favorite as a child.”

“But this volume has never been opened,” he elaborated, fingering the tight leather over the spine.

Charles appeared crestfallen. “Yes…it is a new edition of the tale. My sisters insisted upon finer volumes for the family library instead of the ragged paperback we pored sleepless nights into. I…I am not even sure where it has gone, what with my parents’ deaths and our constant travels.”

“Then you’ll just have to read this one ragged,” Jane supplied. “Consider it a proper homecoming. For a lover of stories, nothing warms a home like well read tomes.”

James watched those blue eyes glitter in the firelight as a grin blossomed across his lips. “I believe you’re right…Jane.” He recovered himself and cleared his throat. “Please, Jamie, read for us? No, no—” he corrected when James began turning back the pages. “—right where you were. You needn’t start over.”

So he returned to his former place and started softly, his comfort growing as he read, _“Scrooge closed the window and examined the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was double locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say ‘Humbug!’ but he stopped at the—”_

Jane splayed her fingers over the page. “Say it like you used to read; give him a voice here—do an impression of father when he’s cross.”

“Oh my,” Charles laughed. “Are we worthy of such a peek into domestic life?”

Jane giggled. “Jamie used to call it his 'dragon voice' when we were small.”

Charles was the epitome of curiosity and glee. “Well go on then! I never thought I’d be so lucky as to hear a dragon in Netherfield!”

“It strains my voice,” he uttered quietly.

“Then I ought to oversee you practice,” she said. “Perhaps Lydia will hear you better.” She reached back to poke his cheek, causing his lips to pout.

She lifted with the rise of his chest as he breathed, and then he growled, _“Huummbug.”_ It rumbled in his chest and scratched his throat like swallowing embers, but Jane giggled profusely. Her mirth turned into full heaves of breath which then evolved into coughs. Jamie was ready with a handkerchief as well as her tonic.

Charles was half risen from his seat when she laid back once more on James’ chest. “Are you all right?”

“On the contrary,” she grimaced around vinegar as the red in her cheeks faded. “The phlegm has finally broken from my ribs—” Her features opened in horror. “I-I’m sorry. That’s—oh, it’s disgusting—I’m so sorry.”

It was Charles’ turn to guffaw. “Rest assured, I am not disillusioned enough to think women are not subjected to the same fluids as men. ‘Jolly boys make for jolly old men,’ so they say, because laughter is the best medicine.”

He looked to James, then, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad to see Jane smile and laugh despite her fever. I hope you will forgive me for being forthright, but I thought you were avoiding me.”

Truth and a ready lie clashed in Jamie’s throat, leaving his mouth open. Jane supplied, “He was.”

The betrayal was keen. “I wasn’t,” he countered, pinching the back of her arm. “Your leisure time has overlapped with my occupation, that’s all.”

The moonlight coming in sideways cast a unique glimmer over Bingley’s blue eyes, and shadows over Darcy’s brown ones. Charles said, “I am eager to hear more about this occupation. We’ll have more time tomorrow? I can see we’ve imposed ourselves enough.”

James glanced down at his sister, seeing her pale lashes resting on her cheeks more often than they were lifted. “Yes,” he acquiesced, “tomorrow. Thank you again for being hospitable to us—”

Charles stood while waving his hand. “It’s a pleasure, a pleasure. I only wish there was more time. Sleep well, Jamie, and you, Jane. I hope the morrow brings you better health.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bingley. Lord Darcy,” she smiled weakly.

Darcy leaned forward slightly in a bow and followed Charles out with their chairs. As the door shut behind them, James placed the volume atop the others on his bedside table while Jane shifted to lie on his shoulder. The nearly empty pot joined the books as she spoke.

“Two sightings of Mr. Darcy in one day.” He heard a smile in her breathy voice. “Aren’t I lucky. He must have come because you’re here.”

James breathed in the familiar scent of her hair and meant to close his eyes, but something in his peripheral vision made him turn his head back to the glass doors. Darcy and Bingley finished returning the chairs to the other room, and their shadows were leaving the veranda.


	5. Good Opinions

James awoke to sounds in the room. Jane was out of bed, and just from her manner of movement, he knew she was feeling better. The first rays of sunlight were swords lying across the coverlet. She came around the bed while pouring a cup of tea; she glanced over the rosemary sprig to see his squinting eyes and smiled. “Good morning,” she almost whispered.

“Mmh,” he sighed, watching the cup balance on his chest. He could feel its heat seeping through the plush down while he heard the sound of a tin container opening. A salve smelling of eucalyptus was rubbed under his nose. “Forgot I brought that.”

She laughed softly. “My ailment was in my chest, but yours is in your head. Can you breathe through your nose?”

He shook his head while wiggling to sit up enough to drink his tea. She informed, “Richard brought basins for us to wash.”

James’ eyes had already closed once more. “Richard?” he heard as if from a dream.

“The butler,” she informed while dragging her hand back and forth over his chest. “You must wash,” she coaxed. “You’ll feel better. Come on.”

Heaving himself up, he drained the cup and first washed his and Jane’s underthings in one of the basins. While they dried over the fire the siblings washed during pieces of conversation before Jane exclaimed, “Jamie, what’s this?”

He looked up at Jane’s bare breast pulled to the side. He squinted and stepped out of his basin for a better look at her sternum. He laughed, “It’s only a spot. Wash thoroughly.”

“I thought I was past getting spots,” she complained mildly.

“It’s because you’ve been in bed for a few days,” he supplied while washing his face. “Consider it an unexpected advantage you do not own one of the fashionable London gowns that would otherwise reveal your treachery,” he laughed.

Jane frowned. “Their gowns are not cut so low.”

He had wrapped himself in a towel and knelt over the basin to finish. “It is hardly within me to care one way or another how low a woman’s dress is cut…unless it’s Lydia.”

“I think the larger concern would be Lydia’s swollen pride at owning such a thing, and less how others reacted to her bosom,” she voiced. “Let me wash your hair. Your sinuses must ache.”

They did. Leaving his face wet, he heard her towel move around her body and the felt her fingers push into his hair. After suds had been made Jane poured water over his hair and he did the same for her. Once they had finished she said pleasantly, “I think I’ll have a spot of breakfast. Will you join me?”

He nodded and buttoned the last holes of his shirt. They were informed their hosts had already dined and were out on the terrace awaiting them. James’ own cold had taken hold, eclipsing his appetite, but it was a relief to see Jane famished. She managed to push apple slices and a bite of toast into him but beyond that he excused himself as she finished her last cup of tea.

He exited the French doors leading to the terrace which wrapped around the rear of the house but a footmen gestured around the corner where the family would have a view of the lake. James thanked him, and as he rounded the corner, he paused upon hearing their discussion.

“An uncle who is an attorney is all fine and good, but another in Cheapside!” The voice was unmistakably Caroline’s.

“That is capital,” Louisa chortled.

Charles cut in, “If they had uncles enough to fill all of Cheapside, it would not make them one jot less agreeable. You lot hold too much emphasis on material wealth.”

James neared the corner, pressing his shoulder to its edge. He let his body roll over it so he was in view of the family, or rather, they each faced the view of the lake where Mr. Darcy leaned against the banister. But Darcy’s gaze locked with James’.

“Charles,” Louisa said measuredly, “we have our wealth thanks to material goods.”

Caroline concluded, “And their lack thereof materially lessens their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world.”

Darcy held James’ eyes with his own, but if there was any emotion there, James could not read it. Richard the butler arrived with coffee, of which Darcy appeared uninterested, but James was thankful for the conversation change to announce himself. “My sister feels well.”

Caroline and Mrs. Hurst perked up, ignorant of his being there all the while. “What lovely news!” the latter sang.

“Is she with you?” Caroline asked.

“She finishes breaking her fast as we speak,” he confirmed. “She will be with you shortly.”

He began to shift back the way he'd come, but Charles exclaimed, “You will remain as well? Share the morning with us?”

James smiled and assured, “I am going to retrieve your books. I’ll be back momentarily, excuse me.”

James delicately pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked to the opposite set of stairs. Just the press of the pads of his fingers elicited aches, and the sun was too bright on his eyes. Nonetheless, he collected the borrowed volumes and returned to find Jane conversing with the Bingley sisters. James silently found a cushioned settee and continued the novel he had started the night previous while the others played a game of loo.

He could not go ignored for long, however. Mr. Hurst looked at him with astonishment. “Do you prefer reading to cards? That is rather singular.”

“Mr. Bennet,” said Caroline, “has been shown to despise cards, or at the very least he is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.”

Jane’s smile began to evaporate. “That’s not true—” she began but James’ voice covered her own.

“I deserve neither such praise nor censure. I am not a great reader and I have pleasure in many things.”

Charles agreed, “In nursing your sister you have great proclivity! Look how she glows!”

He swiftly bloomed red at his own exclamation but James was glad for the leave to look back at the pages. Until Bingley sat beside him.

James’ chin remained lowered whereas his lashes swept up upon hearing Bingley’s charge: “I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and for my own credit; but I am idle when it comes to book collecting. Though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into.”

James opened his mouth to speak but Caroline claimed the air. “I am astonished that our father left so small a collection. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Lord Darcy!”

“It ought to be good,” the man himself put forward. “It has been the work of many generations.”

“And you have added so much to it yourself; you are always buying books!”

“It hardly matters how many you have as long as you enjoy them,” James sighed, if nothing else than to get the sentiment out, but he realized Charles had heard him. Bingley leaned into him so their shoulders touched, and James peeked up to see a kind gaze meeting his.

However Charles’ head swung the other way upon Darcy saying, “I cannot comprehend the neglect of a library in such days as these.”

“Neglect!” Caroline said. “I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley.”

“I wish it may,” he admitted.

Caroline proceeded, “But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighborhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire.”

“With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy would but sell it.”

James’ eyes found Jane, who remained silent despite the storm of worry he recognized in her eyes, the set of her mouth. Caroline too easily pulled Charles in a different county altogether despite being right beside Jane. It was an odd relief that Caroline herself then canceled the notion.

“I am talking of possibilities, Charles.”

Bingley laughed, “Upon my word, Caroline, I think it more possible to acquire Pemberley by purchase rather than imitation.”

The conversation faded from James’ attention in favor of monitoring Jane. He could not say when exactly she had learned the skill of silence within a social setting, but she had mastered it, being able to hold her space while saying very little. James realized that Charlotte was right: Jane and Charles needed to be alone. Jane needed the relaxed space and comfort to speak freely, and beyond that Charles would undoubtedly be irrevocably attached to her.

“Has Miss Darcy grown much since the spring?” Caroline asked at some point. “Will she be as tall as I am?”

“You are already of a common height,” Darcy provided. “Therefore she will be taller.”

James was reminded of Lydia, however Caroline proclaimed wistfully, “How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much.”

Hell, woman, you’ve forgotten one of my sisters only to insult the one sitting beside you! he thought angrily.

“Such a countenance, such manners!” Caroline praised. “And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have the patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

Louisa returned as if from a reverie. “All young ladies, Charles? What do you mean?”

Bingley pressed on, “Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

He and James looked up as Darcy joined, “Your list of the common extent of accomplishments has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it for nothing more than netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance that are truly accomplished.”

“Nor I, to be sure,” Caroline was simply too quick to agree.

But James swiftly cut in, “You must comprehend a great deal into your idea of an accomplished woman.”

Darcy’s pause could not have been long, but the way he held James’ gaze, it was like a short eternity passing before he answered, “Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Have you ever netted a purse, my lord?” James finished.

The silence again. “No. I cannot say that I have.”

His ever-faithful assistant came to the forefront. “No one can be really esteemed in accomplishment unless you greatly surpass what is usually met with. Netting purses is child’s play. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages to deserve the word. Besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.”

Darcy agreed, “All this she must possess and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, through the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

The book had long since slid through James’ fingers to rest somewhere between his knees. “Then therein lies the secrets of your libraries: your quest to create the perfect woman. I am no longer surprised at you knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”

Then there it was: the first furrow of Darcy’s brow, the visage of perplexity in those bright brown eyes. “Are you so severe upon the sex that you doubt the possibility of all this?”

James could not help but smile tiredly. “With a sister at home I would have thought you might have a special insight to these people you speak of in such a detached way. I have four siblings in various degrees of what you might call accomplishment, and I still never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity and application alongside elegance as you describe, united. Perhaps one or some triumph but never all at once. On the contrary, such layers of endless study seem to be a fit recipe for madness. My lord.”

A sewing needle might have dropped and shattered the marble beneath their feet for all the silence that encompassed them. As if it had, Mrs. Hurst and Caroline exploded against the injustice of his doubt before Mr. Hurst called them to order. Only his insistence of going into Meryton quelled Louis’s agitation, and they excused themselves from the party. To Jane’s utter relief, Mr. Jones finally arrived and was awaiting her for her medical examination. James was only too glad to join her, but not before Caroline said her last remarks.

“Mr. Bennet, I’ve only just realized, did you bring a razor with you?” Caroline asked.

He met her gaze. “No?”

A grin flashed on her face. “I had believed you not much younger than Jane, but there is not a day’s worth of growth on your chin.”

“That’s hardly worth commenting on,” Charles intercepted. “My beard is not quick to grow, and when it does you cannot see the blond hairs.”

James left them, too tired and uninterested to humour Caroline’s taunts. Upon entering the house, however, James immediately recognized not only his mother’s voice, but Lydia and Kitty’s conversing with Mr. Jones. James touched Jane’s arm, informing her that he was going to the library to return the books.

He was expecting the library to be a source of quiet, but he considered that he should have suspected the opposite from the previous conversation. Upon entering the library, he discovered that the room shared the exterior of the house by which Caroline Bingley was speaking. Then again, she had the sort of voice that carried, not unlike Lydia.

As he set the books upon their shelves, Caroline reacted to the butler informing them, “Mrs., Miss, and Miss Bennet have arrived.”

“Well is that all of them?” Caroline retorted. “I can hardly keep count.”

“Perhaps we should have added mathematics to the list of necessary accomplishments,” Charles responded, much to James’ mirth.

“Richard, did you supply Mr. Bennet with a razor this morning?” Caroline inquired.

“Carol, this hardly matters,” Charles complained.

The butler replied, “I tried, mum, but Miss Bennet assured me he would not have a need for it when they bathed.”

“It is an advantage of which to be jealous,” Charles approved, but Caroline had caught on something.

“Jane assured you? Why would she…they were in separate rooms, were they not?”

“No, mum,” Richard said. “Mr. Bennet attended to her throughout the night.”

“William and I saw this,” Charles declared. “Really, Caroline—”

“But Jane intercepted the toiletries?” she continued. “Why on earth would she—my god, Richard, did they bathe in the same room?”

“I was not there to verify or confirm, mum,” the butler supplied. James peeked through the window to see him addressing Caroline, Bingley, and Mr. Darcy, who watched their goings-on from where he still leaned against the terrace banister.

“Charles, how can this not matter to you? Jane is a delicate, sweet thing but that James Bennet—”

Charles raised his hand, halting her words. “You and I have bathed together, Caroline. I do not want to hear it.”

“When we were children!” she exclaimed. “This is hardly proper!”

Charles whirled on her. “You might have taken a moment to stop ogling Darcy in order to notice that Jamie was barely standing when he was on his feet! He’s spent all of his energies taking care of Jane; I am not surprised at all that she might return the kindness in helping him wash in order to be presentable for us. You speak so much of what’s proper—let’s go out and meet the Bennets as our precious station dictates.”

James was both impressed and disappointed. Far from being unnerved at Caroline’s incestuous accusations, he only wished Charles would show as much energy for Jane instead of himself.

“Lizzy, dear? Jamie?”

He turned to find his mother entering the library. Her eyes landed on him and she smiled—only to rush forward and take his face in her hands. “Lizzy! Lizzy, my love…you shouldn’t have rushed into the rain as you did. You look dead on your feet.”

“I’m fine, mama,” he said, but instead of pushing away her hands, he leaned into them.

“The skin around your eyes is black,” she retorted, making him laugh weakly.

“No it isn’t.”

“Whose shirt is this?”

“Mr. Bingley’s.”

“Oh!” she chortled. “I must thank them—you have, of course, haven’t you?”

Without waiting for his response, she ushered him into the foyer where the others drew them into the breakfast parlor. Mr. Jones had already deemed Jane in fine health and was enjoying a biscuit while Mrs. Bennet thanked them for allowing her children to stay on their hospitality. James came to sit by Jane, resting his elbow upon the cushioned arm and simultaneously bracing his aching brow against his hand while shielding his oversensitive eyes from the morning blaze. “I am glad upon realizing she was too ill to be removed, you provided every possible comfort to her.”

“Removed!” Charles startled. “I would not have thought of—it never entered my mind! My sister, I am sure, was much the same and would not have lent an ear to her removal.”

“You may depend upon it, madam,” said Miss Bingley with cold civility from her place by the windows with Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgements.

“If it was not for such good friends I do not know what would have become of her, although she would have endured with the greatest patience in the world, which is always the way with her. She has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You have a wonderful room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry I hope, though you have but a short lease.”

“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” Charles admitted. “Therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself quite fixed here.”

“I should expect so,” James said to himself, but to his constant reliance, Charles’ ears heard him.

“You begin to comprehend me, do you?” he teased, smile flashing.

James met his disposition with mischievous eyes. “Oh yes. I understand you perfectly.”

Charles guffawed, “I might take this for a compliment, but to be so easily seen through is pitiful.”

“It happens. But it does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than one such as yours.”

“Lizzy!” hissed his mother. “Remember where you are, and do not run on a wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.”

However Charles was unperturbed. “I did not know that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.”

“I’ve found intricate characters to be the most amusing. They have at least that advantage.”

He had not expected Mr. Darcy to reply. “The country,” he said, “can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighborhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society.”

“I disagree,” James confronted. “People themselves have the ability to alter so much, there can be something new to observe at any time.”

“Yes, indeed, my lord,” Mrs. Bennet bristled. “I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in the country as in town.”

Pairs of siblings exchanged glances throughout the room, but Darcy, after looking at her for a moment, turned silently away. Mrs. Bennet fancied she had gained a victory over him and sought to continue it. “I cannot see that London has any great advantages over the country, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?”

“I can be equally happy in either,” Bingley revealed. “When I am in the country, I never wish to leave it, and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, I’d say.”

“Aye, that is because you have the right disposition, but that gentleman,” she meant Darcy, “seems to think the country was nothing at all.”

James’ patience had worn thin. “Mama, do not make assumptions as if the subject of your criticism is not present.” He saw Mr. Darcy look at him in his peripheral eye. “You misunderstood Lord Darcy. He meant that there was not such a variety of people within the country as there would be in a larger population, such as the city. You must acknowledge this to be true.”

His mother began to agree but before she could be swept away by her own words he asked whether she had seen Charlotte of late. Indeed she had, as Sir William and his family had dined with them just the previous evening. The redirection succeeded until Mrs. Bennet proclaimed, “What an agreeable man, Sir William is, Mr. Bingley. That is my idea of good breeding; and those people who fancy themselves very important and never open their mouths quite mistake the matter.”

James’ eyes widened the same moment he heard Jane’s intake of breath. He peeked under his hand to gauge Darcy’s reaction: the man was as stoic as ever, but sensing James’ gaze, those irises flicked to him. James could only bid him a silent apology.

But she was far from finished. “The Lucases are wonderful company. It is only a pity Charlotte is not more handsome—”

“Mama—” James tried to stymy.

“She seems a very pleasant young woman,” Charles concurred.

Mrs. Bennet progressed, “Oh, dear, yes, but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane’s beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, with Jane one does not often see anybody better looking.”

One of James’ fingers rubbed circles between his eyes, breathing for calm.

“It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a gentleman—”

“Mama,” Jane exclaimed this time.

“—in town so much in love with her that my brother Gardiner and sister-in-law, who were likewise in town, were sure he would make her an offer. But however he did not.”

Jane’s fingers curled around James’ hand resting between their hips. He felt her nails press into his palm. He had lost the feeling in the back of his throat.

“Perhaps he thought her too young. He did leave town rather suddenly, which might have given rain to sow suspicions, however he wrote some verses for her, and very pretty they were.”

“And so ended any affection,” James concluded impatiently. His voice betrayed the lack of strength in his throat. “An underestimated quality of poetry—its efficacy of driving away love.”

“I have been led to believe poetry is the food of love,” Darcy wondered.

The pads of James’ fingers wandered over his eyes, feeling how thin and fragile the skin there had become. “Of a stout, healthy sort of love it may. I can only guess it would serve to nourish what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, one good sonnet will correct such illusions.”

Darcy appeared to be absorbing this, and upon reflection looked upon James with something like piqued intrigue.

All the while the youngest Bennets had kept their heads together, whispering until the moment presented itself. “Mr. Bingley I do remember you had said at Meryton that you would like to host your own ball here at Netherfield.”

Charles guffawed. “Goodness, that does sound like me. Are you here to collect the debt?”

She beamed. “Only to encourage good ideas.”

Caroline eyed her. “You are a well grown girl of…how old are you, Miss Bennet?”

“Fifteen,” she answered proudly.

“And it must have been your good humour that encouraged your mother to let you debut at such an early age,” Caroline smiled.

“The officers are in Meryton, did you know?” Lydia pressed. “It would simply be shameful to not invite them.”

James scolded, “He cannot be expected to invite the entire regiment.”

Lydia shot poison at him with her eyes. “Then a few select captains I have already validated as good company.”

Charles intercepted jovially, “I am ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement. After your sister has had a few more days to establish her health, you may name the very day of the ball.”

Lydia was beside her self. “Oh yes! Captain Carter and Colonel Forster will make excellent guests, and when you have given your ball, I shall insist upon their giving one also.”

“Now, now, Lydia, you’ve convinced a good man to give his word, and we best be off. Mr. Bingley, I do hope I may trust my children in your care a while longer? Surely you’ve noticed my Lizzy’s condition.”

Charles’ brows reached for his hairline. “Of course!” he chimed. “It will be my pleasure—not to say it’s a pleasure that he fell ill too—but a pleasure to spend a while longer with him. Yes, mum, I’m only too happy to have him.”

Mrs. Bennet looked quite pleased. “And you too, Jane, must take care of him as he did vice versa. But do take care to not trade this ailment back and forth endlessly.”

“Mama, I’d rather go home,” James voiced, albeit quietly.

“Nonsense, my love. Mr. Jones is already here,” the man himself harrumphed at the table, where he had fallen asleep. “I won’t hear a word about it. You mustn’t be moved. Straight to bed with you.”

James only had a moment’s notice to witness Charles graciously escorting his mother and sisters back to their carriage, and Caroline’s sour expression before he found himself in bed under the examinations of Mr. Jones. A common cold was his verdict and he supplied a ready tonic he carried with him. He left with the order, “A good broth with lots of greens,” and that was all.

“James.”

He blinked, fighting unconsciousness.

“James, you look like an absolute horror,” Jane pressed. “Tell me what to do.”

He felt about the same, but he could not say whether it was a physical affliction so much as a mental one. As if from far away, he felt her fingernails dragging over his scalp. He locked onto the sensation, the tingles seeping through his skull to hum pleasantly in his cranium.

“Leave,” he rasped.

“You know I will not.”

“You’ll be ill again.”

“Then you’ll heal me,” she said stubbornly. “Tell me what to do.”

Lifting his eyes was a heavy ordeal, like coins had been placed over his lashes. “Lemon tea.”

She kissed his forehead and left to relay the request. James remained conscious long enough to drink a pot, and then another in the evening. Jane put a candle on the headboard to light the book in her hands; she was always there when his lashes fluttered open. The next day he awoke to the soft voices of Charles asking how he was. Upon seeing James awake, he waved happily while Mr. Darcy stood statuesque behind him. James did not realize he had simply fallen back asleep until his eyes opened again and Jane chuckled.

“He’s not offended. He was ecstatic you had the strength to hear him at all.”

James still could not breathe through his nose but his head and throat felt better. “You should spend time with him instead of me.”

She giggled, sliding a finger up the bridge of his nose. “Mother’s excuse to have me stay here is not going to plan. Bingley wishes me to stay with you.”

“But…” James began but is lashes heavily fell in time with her stokes along his nose. “You needn’t…”

“You can’t be dictatorial if you can’t get the words out,” she hushed.

His eyes shut under her ministrations, and he did not wake again until mid-morning, and he awoke with a hunger. He suspected Jane to be at brunch with the family as he dressed in fresh garments provided by Charles. The maid waiting outside the room startled from her journal and led him to a different parlor. This one was furnished in a clean and spacious Grecian style along with bookshelves and a writing table at which Mr. Darcy sat.

“Jamie!” Jane hopped up from the couch on which she and Charles had been conversing and held his forearms. “Are you feeling well?”

“Ravenous,” he smiled groggily.

Charles had risen with her to grip his shoulder. “Food will be brought at once. You slept so soundly we could not bother you to even give you the prescribed broth. Do you have a craving for anything?” Upon James’ hesitation Charles insisted, “Anything at all.”

“Dumpling stew.”

Bingley grinned and nodded to the maid, who left. The dish arrived quickly, having used the broth and greens but Jamie’s spoon lifted savory dough eggs that stuck to his teeth pleasantly. He was left to eat and listen as he pleased, while sitting adjacent to Mr. Darcy and his pile of paper and finished letters.

This also lent an unobstructed view of Darcy’s discourse with Caroline, who was strolling about the room with lingering steps around the table. She noticed the current letter’s intended recipient. “How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”

James peeked up to see, indeed, the length of the pages but Darcy made no answer.

“You write uncommonly fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

James peered over to where Jane and Charles were getting on well on the couch. He ladled the thick stew into his mouth while Caroline was otherwise distracted with observing Darcy’s finished pile of envelopes. “How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year. Letters of business too. How odious I should think them,” she chortled.

“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours,” Darcy responded. James held his spoon over his lips to hide any traces of a smile.

“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”

“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”

“Your pen grows dull. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”

“Thank you, but I always mend my own.”

James looked to Charles again, who was still thankfully oblivious to his sister’s tyranny over Darcy’s focus.

“How can you contrive to write so evenly?”

Darcy was silent.

“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in rapture with her beautiful little design for a table. I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”

James commented, “I thought a letter’s contents were between the sender and the recipient; just as confidential before or after the envelope.”

He let his spoon tap his lip while Caroline otherwise looked daggers into him. Darcy did not look up from his page. “Will you give me leave to postpone your raptures till I write again? At present I have not the room to do them justice.”

Caroline’s tone was unperturbed as she went to the window. “Oh, it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charmingly long letters to her, Lord Darcy?”

_January_. James saw Jane’s head lift and met her gaze briefly. If the party traveled together, there were yet many months to share.

“They are generally long,” Darcy conceded, “but whether always charming, it is not for me to determine.”

“It is a rule with me that a person who can write a long letter with ease cannot write ill.”

James did not withhold his grimace at her logic or lack thereof but Charles intercepted, “That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline. He does not write with ease. Simply with a great deal to say.”

“And you, Charles, write in the most careless way imaginable,” Caroline exclaimed. “You leave out half your words and blot the rest.”

Bingley blushed and said to Jane as if in apology, “My ideas flow so rapidly that I hardly have the time to express them…although this often results in my letters conveying little to no ideas to my correspondents.”

Jane smiled and assured. “Some of the greatest minds have shown similar reproof. Active minds often display themselves in either carnage or meditation.”

James witnessed Charles’ eyes soften just before Darcy spoke. “Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.”

James set his spoon back within the bowl. “An indirect boast?”

Darcy looked up from his letter. “For instance, when Charles claimed his ability to be quit of Netherfield in five minutes; such an action would result in necessary business being left undone and would achieve no real advantage for oneself or anyone else. To insinuate such things as laudable is a sign of foolishness, not intelligence.”

James could not help but smile. He was indeed feeling better and rose to the challenge but Bingley defended himself first. “Nay, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning is too much. And upon my honor, I believed what I said to be true; one needn't leave unfinished things behind if he is to be quit of a place. If anything, it is a testament of efficient management.”

“And you are so capable of that,” his sister japed.

“You contradict yourself,” Darcy seconded. “You claim to be committed to one or the other, or easily capable of forgetting something or other. If you were but to mount your horse and a friend said, ‘You had better stay till next week,’ you would sooner comply whether the request was a week or a month.”

“You claim I am easily manipulated!” Charles exclaimed.

Well if the hair’s red, James thought bitterly but said aloud, “To yield readily to the persuasion of a friend holds no merit with Lord Darcy, I suppose. Be steadfast in your choices, Charles, even if they are wrong."

Darcy’s head tilted every so slightly; examining him as if to make James’ thoughts visible for inspection. “You make fun of me.”

“I delight in cheating a person of their premeditated contempt,” James countered softly. “Despise me if you dare.”

“I do not dare.”

James blinked, having expected to have affronted him, not this gallantry. Instead he heard the words pass through Darcy’s lips as well as seeing the cogs slide into place behind Darcy’s eyes, the rumination slow yet deliberate. Darcy returned to his letter, but the sharp point of his pen hovered.

Caroline observed this, and came to stand beside James’ chair. “Mr. Bennet, will you take a turn around the room with me. It is refreshing after being so long in one position.”

James was surprised but agreed out of courtesy, though to feel Miss Bingley’s arm on his was an odd experience. Then her scheme became apparent. “What of you, my lord? Will you not take reprieve from your letters?”

“I will not, and for the better. Whatever secret affairs you wish to discuss with Mr. Bennet may be done more easily without me.”

“Oh! How uniquely considerate,” she teased. “How shall we punish him for such a notion?”

“Laugh at him,” James said bluntly although he could not help but agree with Darcy’s underlying sentiment: Caroline had nothing to share with him nor did he wish to pretend at such confidence. “Laughter just as easily makes a man as it destroys him.”

“Nay, Lord Darcy is above laughter.”

James snorted softly in his throat. “You mean he is not to be laughed at. That is an uncommon privilege, and one I hope does not continue. I dearly love to laugh.”

Darcy intercepted, “Miss Bingley has given me credit for more than can be considered accurate. Even the wisest of men can be rendered ridiculous if there is but one to laugh at them.”

James conceded, “There are such people but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. I will admit to enjoying certain follies and nonsense, but I suppose you are without these.”

“It has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which expose a strong understanding to ridicule.”

“I won’t ask what inspired this study,” James promised. “But it must be said that some weaknesses are correctible while others are not. I suppose pride is among the latter?”

Darcy considered this. “Where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be under good regulation, yes.”

James meant to send a smile to Jane, but met a frown on her face.

Caroline inquired, “Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume. What is the result?”

“He owns himself without disguise. I cannot withhold that from him.”

Darcy’s gaze followed him throughout the room. “I have faults enough, and they are sadly without understanding. I dare not vouch for my temper; it is too unyielding. While you laugh at follies and vices, I cannot forget them, nor offenses made against myself. My temper would likely be called resentful, and once my good opinion is lost, it’s lost forever.”

Caroline had since left his arm to sit on the settee opposite Charles and Jane. James returned to the table to finish his meal. “You’ve chosen your fault well, I won’t laugh at it. You are safe from me.”

He would have happily left it at that, but Darcy inquired, “Is there not, in every disposition, a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which cannot be overcome even by the best education?”

James was very still as he met Darcy’s eyes. What are you implying? he might have asked if they were alone, but instead he forced a smile and returned, “And your evil is a propensity to hate everybody?"

Then, Darcy smiled. “And yours is to understand them.”

James was not sure if he had been insulted or if he had just shared something akin to a secret.

“Do let us have some music,” Caroline proclaimed, and the spell of the last hour was broken. Even more so, it was a great relief that Charles granted he and Jane the use of his carriage to leave Netherfield by the end of the morning. Richard the butler had graciously washed and pressed James’ original attire, allowing him to leave Bingley’s garments behind as they strode toward the waiting carriage. And none too soon; James felt the morning’s strength begin to leave him; the sky was overcast thankfully but he still felt his eyes trying to squint against the light. He breathed for stamina as the last stretch of niceties was being met.

Charles and his sister saw Jane safely into the carriage, apologizing for the Hursts’ having been in Meryton, but they would send their regards, surely. Charles then shook James’ hand with both of his; Caroline graced his with her touch and that was all—

A large hand filled his, causing James to look around at Darcy—he felt the added strength through his arm, aiding his steps into the carriage. “Thank you. My lord.”

Darcy’s eyes stared in that characteristic way, and then he nodded once and released his hand.

Jane arranged herself in the open carriage but pivoted quickly upon seeing James rubbing his sternum. “Lizzy? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he breathed. “It’s not important. Let’s just get home.”

They rocked with the first rolling of the wheels, and then they were well down the drive and away from Netherfield House.

“I for one,” Caroline said as they observed the carriage leaving the drive, “am glad for only four Bennet sisters. Should James Bennet have been a woman, he would have been one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own. And with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. It is a paltry device, a very mean art.”

She looked up to Mr. Darcy, who realized he had been the subject of her complaints. “Undoubtedly,” said as if without much thought, but then, “there is meanness in all the arts by which ladies employ for men’s captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable. It sours the spider’s intelligence the fly might have otherwise appreciated.”

The pebbles beneath his boot growled as he rotated, leaving a speechless Caroline behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [~ Read all the things here ~](https://www.pondermoniums.com/)


	6. Family Party

They were not cordially welcomed home by their mother.

Their father, however, smiled warmly and embraced his children, voicing their importance to their family table. “Our circle has been broken of late,” he said, guiding the way past an annoyed Mrs. Bennet with his children on either arm. His hand dragged over Jamie’s hair. “Dinner conversation has lost all its animation, and certainly all its sense.”

He and Jane laughed, their arms overlapping around Mr. Bennet’s waist. He kissed both of his children’s temples, sending them off but not before he turned Jamie’s face for a proper look at him. “We’ll put the sun back into these eyes. Upstairs, now.”

James could not reach his and Jane’s bed swiftly enough. He managed to remove his boots but otherwise fell into the embrace of the thick covers, coat, trousers, and all. His last conscious thoughts were hearing the family’s feline landing on the bed, and the flexing paws against his backside as she came to perch between his shoulder blades.

The following morning, though, James was well enough to break his fast with the family. Lydia was telling nobody in particular the latest as to her Captain and Colonel, before Mr. Bennet received a letter and announced, “I hope, my dear, that you have ordered a good dinner tomorrow evening, because it seems we are to have an addition to our family party.”

Mrs. Bennet’s curiosity was piqued but she answered, “Whatever do you mean, husband?”

“A gentleman and a stranger,” he answered, distracted by the first lines of the letter.

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes sparkled. “A gentleman and stranger! You mean Mr. Bingley, I am sure. Why Jane! You never dropped a word suggesting he might be visiting, you sly thing! I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingl—”

“It is not Bingley,” Mr. Bennet answered in a monotone. “After nearly a week of losing our eldest children to Netherfield, one can hardly call him a stranger. The stranger I speak of is someone none of us have ever met.”

He waited several moments while his wife and daughters pelted him with inquiries and curiosity. “About a month ago I received a letter from my cousin, although he is so young I have more reason to think of him as a nephew. His father and I were like brothers before our falling out but he has since passed away.”

Mrs. Bennet’s brow furrowed with memory. “That awful man who made a great to-do about not coming to our wedding? Why on earth should his offspring have reason to write let alone visit us?”

Her husband withdrew an older letter from his waistcoat pocket, presumably the first letter from their cousin. “Well if Jamie was not among us, Mr. Collins would be the one to inherit our quaint home after my passing.”

James peeked up with his mouth full of chive potatoes while his mother set her silverware down with finality. “He needn’t visit at all, then,” she declared darkly. “Our home is our own. The coattails of inheritance no longer apply to him.”

Far from perturbed, Mr. Bennet chuckled, his hand finding his son’s wrist on the table. “Yes, yes, our Jamie has saved the family. Nevertheless, Mr. Collins has informed me that he hasn’t any need or desire for the farm anyway, since he has acquired a wealthy benefactress, among his own reasons.”

With both letters in hand, Mr. Bennet read,

_“Dear Sir –_

_“The disagreement between yourself and my late honoured father always have me much uneasiness and, since I have had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach in our families.”_

He sent Mrs. Bennet a look. _“For some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with anyone whom it had always pleased him to be at odds. My mind, however, is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination this past Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the right honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh. This Lady’s bounty and beneficence has granted me the valuable rectory of her parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavor to demean myself with grateful respect towards her Ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England.”_

“A clergyman?” Kitty uttered.

Her father nodded over the words, _“As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures of goodwill are highly recommendable—”_

“He certainly flatters himself,” Mrs. Bennet remarked dryly.

Mr. Bennet smirked but continued, _“I hope that the circumstance of my being second in the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive branch—”_

“What on earth is he saying?” Mrs. Bennet bristled.

Her husband simply held up his open palm to halt her anger. _“Not to insult my father’s memory further, but it would please me a great deal if you and company would consider me a close relative by this circumstance instead of a threat. I dare not be the means of injuring your amiable daughters, and beg leave to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends.”_

“He completely ignores Lizzy and writes as if he were still to inherit the estate!” Mrs. Bennet flared.

Mr. Bennet finished with the latest reply, _“If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, the first week of November, by four o’clock. I shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se’nnight following, which I can do without any inconvenience as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided another clergyman may do the duty of the day. I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your family, your well-wisher and friend,_

_“William Collins._ And so you have it.”

“How fortunate we are,” his wife growled, “and for Mr. Collins’s reply to arrive in such a fashion as to give us no time to spaciously ready for such an intrusion.”

“You mean no time to refuse,” he remarked, albeit with mirth in his eye. He folded up the letters. “Therefore, at four o’clock tomorrow we may expect this peace-making gentleman. If nothing else, he seems a conscientious and polite young man, and may prove himself a valuable acquaintance if Lady Catherine is so indulgent as to share him with us.”

Mr. Bennet seemed greatly amused by his own statement but had the good grace to keep it silent in the face of his wife’s rage. She replied coolly, “There is, at least, some sense in what he says about making any amends. I shall not be the person to discourage him by doing right by us.”

“That is very good of you, dear,” he affirmed.

Jane voiced, “Though it is difficult, to guess in what way he can mean to make us the atonement he thinks is our due. The wish is to his credit, though.”

“Mm,” James seconded. “There is something to be said for a man willing to marry and bury his parishioners.”

“Lizzy,” his mother scolded jadedly, rubbing the protruding vein in her forehead.

“You’re not wrong, though, mama,” he said, joining his cuts of vinegar asparagus and chive potatoes. “There is something pompous in his style; why would he have need of mentioning specifically the entail inheritance when he is disqualified from it?” James looked to his father. “Is he sensible?”

Mr. Bennet’s humour faded and he answered seriously, “No, love, I think not. I have great assurance of finding the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letters, which is remarkably reminiscent of his late father. This promises an intriguing week. I am impatient to see him.”

His wife sighed. “I had forgotten your fancy for studying people. You’ve imparted this awful habit to our son.”

“I call it a learned intelligence, not awful nor habitual,” he refuted. He then shared a look with James. “A week should suffice for us to dissect Mr. Collins.”

James laughed around his mouthful, his father’s smile growing just a little wider at the shine returning to his son’s eyes.

“In composition,” said Mary, who sat opposite James on Mr. Bennet’s other side, “his letter does not seem defective. The idea of the olive branch is perhaps not wholly new, yet I think it is well expressed.”

Mr. Bennet smiled softly for her, patting her hand fondly. “You’re not wrong, darling. The metaphor holds its meaning well.”

To Lydia and therefore Kitty, neither the letter nor its writer were in any degree interesting. Their cousin wore neither a scarlet coat nor was he likely to have any useful connections to a regiment member. Their mother, however, calmed over the course of the day and the following, so much so that she was preparing to see him with a degree of composure that rather astonished her husband and children.

“The chamomile, I think,” Jane said the following afternoon as they waited restlessly around the house.

“Mm,” James agreed tersely, watching his mother’s movements. It was not that tranquility was outside of her character, more so was her lack of dialogue. It reached a point that Hill, the family’s cook and butler of sorts arrived with lavender scones as James steeped her tea; her favorite biscuits.

“Don’t you think the windows could use a cleaning?” she said offhandedly as James took her hand in his, massaging the tense ligaments of her fingers and wrist.

“Yes, mama. Hill with take care of it,” he soothed quietly. She began to nibble on the scones and voiced certain complaints or concerns, slowly easing against her son’s touch.

“Lydia, you have a loose curl, dear. Mary, if you won’t tie it back, brush it at least. Oh Jamie, a stain…”

“Yes, mama. I know, mama,” he said accordingly, moving to her other hand.

“Oh…what must he think of me, Jamie?” she said after a time. “Your father’s side never much cared for me; indeed, they have not communicated with us since our engagement. Oh…that was over twenty years ago…”

“It’s all right, mama,” Jamie hushed, pushing circles into the muscles of her forearm. “As papa said, he may think very little, or at least not much of consequence.”

His father came inside, then, announcing a carriage coming up the drive. James helped his mother stand and Mr. Bennet took her arm before leading the family outside to greet their guest.

Mr. Collins was punctual to his time and was received with politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet said little, however Mrs. Bennet had regained her confidence and said much in his stead. Her daughters were ready enough to speak and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement nor inclined to be silent. A reasonably tall man of five and twenty, Mr. Collins’s gait lent to a heavy-looking stature. A look from James silenced Lydia’s whispers to Kitty of how skinny Mr. Collins’s legs were in comparison to his barrel-like torso.

Far from Mrs. Bennet’s previous concerns, Mr. Collins proved largely ignorant of the roots of his father’s hatred of Mr. Bennet or the Bennets' matrimony. In fact, the topics he chose to open to Mrs. Bennet would normally have been readily received, except for his contradictory grave and stately manner. His addressing the furnishings and state of the gardens was expected but his remarks on her “fine family of daughters plus an heir,” was met with patient silence whereas, “with no miscarriages as well,” brought color to Mrs. Bennet’s complexion. James exchanged a glance with his father, who was stoic. James supposed it was due to his patroness, of whom he was blatantly proud of, that held his spine so rigid, but for Mr. Collins’s lack of sense during a conversation, he could not discern any obvious reason.

The morning before his arrival, Mr. Bennet had pulled James aside and given him the task of sitting on the side of the table where his mother traditionally sat. He now understood why. He took her hand and felt her squeeze his fingers.

Mr. Collins continued, “Your robust health shines in each of them. I met the fame of your family’s beauty upon my first moments in Meryton around luncheon. “The people there have many kind things to say of the Bennet daughters’ beauty, but I am glad to find their words have actually fallen short of the truth. It must be a great anticipation to see them each disposed of in marriage.”

_Disposed of?_

James barely withheld his grimace as he looked at Jane. Her eyes moved but otherwise she sat composed. James was pleased to find his other sisters exchanging looks to one another but Mrs. Bennet had calmed enough to respond, “You are kind yourself, sir. I wish with all my heart to have my daughters settled, but of course there isn’t any fear of impatient settling as there might have otherwise been.”

James watched Jane inhale deeply, her thoughts not far from his in wishing this dinner would end swiftly. “You allude perhaps to the entail of this estate,” Mr. Collins guessed.

Mrs. Bennet smiled sweetly, like poison. “Entail, sir? There is no entail. More so a direct passing.”

This led to Mr. Collins’s gaze falling to James. “Quite right. An odd but necessary practice, I must say, despite it being rather difficult to whom a property may go to once it has been entailed. Mr. Bennet, do you enjoy the routine of a career in husbandry?”

“I’d say I care more for agriculture,” James provided, which then led Mr. Collins to compliment the meal they were all sharing.

“To whom of my cousins may I pay my compliments?”

James only _just_ checked his mother’s asperity by holding her wrist down on the table. “You may be certain, sir,” she said measuredly, “that we do keep a good cook. None of my children find themselves in the kitchen out of poor necessity.”

It was one of the few blunt hints Mr. Collins grasped throughout the evening, and he proceeded to apologize for it over the next quarter of an hour. This ended when Mr. Bennet wisely opened a subject on which Mr. Collins both welcomed and was eager. Though Mr. Bennet spoke very little, his decision turned the tide of the conversation.

“How kind of the Lady Catherine to bestow her generosity. You are very fortunate in a patroness.”

Mr. Collins brightened, as far as his dull solemnity allowed. “Oh. Yes. Never have I witnessed such behavior in a person of rank, such affability and condescension. I have, as yet, only spoken during two Sundays, but she has been graciously pleased with both discourses. She’s also asked me twice to dine with her in her home, Rosings Park, and has included me at her card table just last Saturday.

“I have met many opinions in that part of the country regarding her ladyship as proud, but I have never seen anything but affability in her. She has always spoken to me as she would to any other gentleman; not the smallest object to my joining in her higher society of the neighborhood, nor even my occasionally leaving the parish to visit my relations.

“During the last evening I spent at her quadrille table she even advised me to marry as soon as I could, provided I choose with discretion, of course. More so, she’s visited my own humble home and approved of all the alterations she had once advised me upon when I first moved into the region…”

James met his father’s silent but glimmering eyes. So there it was: Collins’s reason for visiting was to find a wife via the blind orders of his benefactress.

“Does she live near you?” Mrs. Bennet inquired.

He nodded, “The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship’s residence.”

_“We heard you the first time,”_ Kitty murmured beside James. Her silverware knocked against her plate when he pinched her thigh, but the family ignored it.

“I think you said she was a widow? Has she any family?” their mother progressed.

“She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property,” Collins confirmed.

“Ah!” Mrs. Bennet cried softly, “then she is better off than many girls, how her station allows _her_ a direct inheritance. What sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?”

Mr. Collins was either ignorant or chose to be in regards to Mrs. Bennet’s insult. “She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex because there is in her features that which marks the young woman of distinguished birth.”

James outright grimaced. “That’s absurd.”

Mr. Collins blinked as if water had been splashed in his face. “Pardon?”

James stated as if it was obvious, “How many monarchs have we had who were noticeably ugly or unlucky to be born malformed? One’s station doesn’t—”

“Shut your mouth,” his mother silenced.

James’ appetite vanished but he found an odd saviour in Mr. Collins, who was shaking his head as if confused. “No, no I…must agree with Mr. Bennet, at least in part. The station of one’s parents cannot guarantee all advantages in a mortal realm. The young Miss de Bourgh is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her from making any progress in many accomplishments she would not otherwise have failed in…”

James had already had this discussion on ‘accomplishments’ and did not wish to have it twice. He sat against the spine of his chair and waited for dinner to end. The last spot of entertainment came from Mr. Collins’s revealing, “I try my utmost to provide the little praises which please her ladyship and which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay.”

Mr. Bennet inquired, “It is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions are from the impulse of the moment or are they the result of previous study?”

James’ lashes lifted, hearing Collins’s reply of, “They arise from what is passing at the time, though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions. I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.”

James could see a certain expectation being fully met within his father’s eyes. His cousin was as absurd as he had predicted but Mr. Bennet maintained an amused composure, with only occasional glances to his son.

After they supped, the family and Collins adjourned to the parlour where a shelf of books arrested their guest’s attention for some time. Mrs. Bennet asked if he would like to read for them, and he readily consented, except for the choice in material.

“I beg pardon, I never read novels—”

Lydia startled while Kitty maintained a stunned silence, “Never! Novels? Never!”

It was to her next and utter horror that he did find a volume that suited his interests: a book of sermons. Lydia gaped as he opened the book and, with monotonous solemnity, read up to three pages before she could take no more.

“Mama, do you know that uncle Philips talks of turning away Richard, and if he does, Colonel Forster will—”

_“Hush,”_ both of her eldest siblings scolded.

Mr. Collins, clearly offended, set aside the book. “I have often observed how little young ladies are interested in books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. But I will no longer importune my young cousin.”

Lydia stared wide-eyed as her family slowly dispersed, unsure whether she was truly in trouble or if she had done a good thing by bringing an end to Collins’ reading. Either way, the night’s events came to an unceremonious end.

Later into the night, Jane stroked the cat’s throat as she and James discussed their relative. “He does speak highly of the Lady de Bourgh.”

“Mr. Collins is an old widow’s hobby, and we are the collateral subjects,” he said.

“It is not right of mama to ventilate her insults on him, no more than it is for papa to use him as a source of amusement.”

James knew he could not say anything to sway her from defending the man. “The methods may have been ill-chosen but the intent to educate a person is not wrong.”

“Mr. Collins is educated, though. He is a clergyman.”

“You know there is a difference between being educated and actually having sense,” James scoffed. “You cannot tell me honestly you find him sensible.”

Jane pressed her lips together, at an impasse.

The next morning Lydia had the intent to go into Meryton, and it was Mr. Bennet’s fancy to get Mr. Collins out of his house at least for the better part of the day, especially after he admitted to Mrs. Bennet that he had come to Longbourn to fulfill the Lady de Bourgh’s encouragement and gotten the matriarch in excited spirits at having the prospect of two daughters soon married. So the Bennet siblings and Collins walked to town after breakfast.

“Keep your wits about you,” James murmured while Mr. Collins walked ahead, pointing out various articles of foliage of which he thought he was knowledgeable. “With Bingley reserved, Mama will pass off one of you to Mr. Collins if you let her.”

“Ah! Sweet Peas,” Collins said before them, pausing to bend over a knee-high, leafy plant. “It will be lovely when these bloom—”

“That’s a stinging nettle,” James corrected, striding past him. Collins startled and recollected himself before following them. After traveling to Netherfield on foot, Meryton felt closer than usual, and the town was bustling with morning commerce. Lydia was immediately akin to a cat with string at the first sight of a redcoat, but James hooked her arm with his like a proper escort and drew them to their aunt’s hat shop.

Mr. Philips was home for lunch and came downstairs from their home above the shop to greet them. He showed initial intrigue upon meeting Mr. Collins. “I can only recall meeting a handful of Bennets, and that was before these children were born,” he chuckled, gesturing to James and his sisters. “And you’re not even a Bennet, if we consider the details.”

That set Mr. Collins off, and James could see the benevolent curiosity melting from his uncle’s complexion. Thankfully his wife drew them back upstairs for tea and a light lunch. Mr. Collins was all praises for her courgette sandwiches and her choice of furniture. “The same exquisite taste as Lady de Bourgh,” he commented. Initially put off, Mrs. Philips then learned of whom Lady de Bourgh was and how just a mantelpiece clock cost eight hundred pounds in her Ladyship's home; afterwards she was highly flattered and appealed to Mr. Collins for more conversation.

James took his plate and cup o’tea to the window seat where Mary had occupied herself with a book. He placed a wedge atop the open pages, forcing her to eat it in order to see.

Lydia was aflutter for news of the regiments’ gossip; she did not even bother acknowledging James when he pointed out that news and gossip were not the same thing.

“That reminds me!” Mrs. Philips chimed, “Mr. Denny ought to be coming round about this time—”

“Mr. Denny!” Lydia exclaimed loudly. “You’ve never mentioned a Mr. Denny!”

Her aunt chortled. “Because he is nearing his fortieth year, dear. He’s only coming round because of certain fabric troubles the lads have been having—that’s him, now.”

The bell attached to the shop door sang below them. Lydia, Kitty, and Mr. Collins went downstairs with Mrs. Philips, leaving her husband to enjoy his lunch in peace. Mostly, since Lydia’s voice carried up the stairs. Then came the stomping footfalls of Kitty rushing up to wave Jane downstairs. “Jane! You must _see,_ him!”

Jane looked at James, who appeared just as vacant as to whom Kitty meant. He left the rest of his tea to Mary and followed the eldest into the shop, only to be confronted with the object of their sister’s fascination.

Golden hair, slightly darker than Jane’s pale blond shade, and hazel eyes turned toward them. Mrs. Philips introduced, “My first niece as well as my nephew, Jane and James.”

Mr. Denny greeted them first, his long silver hair tied behind him while his tricorner was clutched under his arm. “Mr. Denny, if it pleases you. Allow me to entreat permission to introduce my friend, Mr. Wickham. He’s come with me from London, having agreed to a commission of being within our corps.”

“Miss Bennet,” he smiled, coming forward to kiss Jane’s hand. “Is the morning treating you well?”

“Very well, Mr. Wickham, thank you,” she returned pleasantly. “My brother…”

She guided his attention to James, who stepped forward with Kitty practically on his heels as he shook Wickham’s hand. The man’s stare was not as piercing as Bingley’s, but his features did open with jubilant curiosity. “Twins?”

James blinked and met Jane’s glance. From this alone, Wickham knew he was wrong in his assumptions. “My apologies,” he laughed. “You both share a similar face and build. I hope I have not already worn my welcome?”

“Sensible conversation is difficult to wear thin,” James appeased, his hand falling back to his side. “How are you liking Meryton?”

“I wish I had arrived in the spring,” Wickham voiced, “when things would be more lush and green. Otherwise, the people have been nothing but cordial and charming.”

Mr. Collins cut in, “Yes, indeed, the people of Meryton and Longbourn are uncommonly welcoming to strangers. In my brief study, it must be a characteristic or measurement of ones wealth. Those with more are more aloof because they of course have more to protect—”

Wickham’s eyes softened as he watched Mr. Collins speak but it was solely a mask to hide his surprise, whereas he peeked at James who grimaced openly. Wickham laughed and drew him over to where Mrs. Philips displayed her spools of ribbon on horizontal beams. “I was told he is your cousin?”

“Distant,” James stated bluntly. “We only met him yesterday.”

“And you already disagree with his sentiments,” he encouraged.

“I won’t speak ill of family in public, sir,” James declined but teased, “Especially when the hours of sunlight are so limited in the autumn.”

Wickham laughed again, fingering the smooth silk of a poison green ribbon. “We can certainly allot several days for the conversation.”

“I thought the regiment was supposed to keep you busy,” James cornered. “Don’t tell me a soldier lives a sedentary existence.”

“Then I won’t say it,” he smiled cheekily. “After the initial training, there isn’t much to do unless we are abroad. After all, the ocean and a naval fleet protects the king’s borders well enough.”

“No Scottish rebellions of late, then?” James teased, leaning his elbows on the central counter which was topped with mannequin heads wearing hats.

“None that I’ve seen, thankfully,” Wickham said as if with relief. “The great Roman Empire _stopped_ its northern expansion at Scotland after all. Despite the charms of long haired sheep and haggis, I do not care to see the passions of its people first hand.”

James laughed. “I cannot say I am an expert on cuisine cooked within a stomach but you are versed in history. That is refreshing.”

“And you are active in current events,” Wickham nodded, joining him at the counter. “What inspires this?”

“My father’s escapism,” James said offhandedly. “He receives regular newspapers from London.”

“That is not so difficult to understand,” Wickham empathized. “Don’t you ever despise the entrapment of rural society?”

James lifted a brow. “Bold talk from a man who accepted an indefinite time in the country.”

“Regretting it less and less,” Wickham smiled, and James could only tilt his head.

“Cheeky,” he said quietly, like a whisper.

Wickham’s weight shifted and he leaned close to directly utter near James’ ear, “Bored.”

James’ lips had parted with curiosity but his lashes blinked heavily. His chin dropped in a sign of refusal. Wickham read this and returned to his former place at the counter. “Then you’ve chosen the wrong person for conversation, I’m afraid. I am the most boring person in Longbourn or Meryton.”

Wickham smiled again. “James, I’ve met the most boring person in Longbourn or Meryton,” he sent a look over to Mr. Collins. “You ought to give yourself more credit.”

“You’ve known me but a moment,” James frowned slightly.

“Then allow me more moments,” Wickham petitioned, holding out his hand. “My name is George.”

He looked at the hand and decided to extend his own. “James.”

“A pleasure, James,” Wickham smiled. “How long are you in Meryton today?”

His hand lingered in James’; he pulled away slowly, the pads of his fingers reaching briefly for the net of veins on James’ wrist.

James shrugged. “As long as my aunt will host me. I don’t stay longer than luncheon, usually.”

“Will you walk with me, then?” Wickham petitioned with a look to the man still conversing with Mrs. Philips. “Mr. Denny does his best but he is not a native of these parts. A tour would be most welcome.”

Lydia had heard. “That’s sounds delightful! There’s so much we could show you!”

Both men had turned toward her exclamation, and now James laughed softly. Wickham’s gaze drifted over him, a soft smile matching on his lips. “All right,” James said simply. “All right.”

Lydia, an eager hostess, donned a new bonnet courtesy of her aunt and flew out the door with Mr. Wickham on her arm. He matched her energy, his hair glinting in the sunlight that periodically fought through the clouds. Mr. Denny stayed behind to converse with Mary, who had come down the stairs at the last moment. Jane took her brother’s arm, laughing merrily as Lydia all but danced with Wickham ahead of them. Kitty came close behind them and asked, “Can you imagine having children with him? Golden bairns—ow! Lizzy!”

He had pulled her ear for her attention. “You sound like Lydia. And where did you learn that word?”

“I _do_ read!” she huffed, throwing herself against his back with her arms around his waist. “A great deal more than Lydia.”

“That’s a relief,” he uttered. Walking was difficult like this but no one thought to change their positions.

“You’re not as strict on her today,” she voiced, muffled against his shoulder. His other hand rested atop her own on his stomach. Kitty was small and curvaceous compared to their gangly and tall youngest sibling.

“She’s too distracted to be obnoxious,” James retorted.

“Jamie,” Jane scolded, but Kitty laughed.

“She does quite well with an occupation, I think,” she agreed.

“Lydia has a craving for esteem,” James reiterated. “Perhaps this comes from being the youngest of five, but if it translates itself in doing a job well, then all the better.”

“What about me?” Kitty asked.

James peeked at her over his shoulder. “Hm?”

She squeezed him a little tighter. “Well…Mary and I are the forgotten children, aren’t we?”

Jane exclaimed softly, “Kitty!”

“Don’t pretend like it’s not true,” she hushed, but not angrily. James was impressed by this. “Mary is content in her books and in her silence but I feel like people would not notice me if I did not cloak myself in Lydia’s energy.”

James’ thumb stroked over her hand. “Hm…Lydia’s certainly loud enough for two…who are you?”

“Lizzy!” she barked, curling her fingers into claws to tickle his ribs. He whipped around and grasped her head to plant a loud kiss on her forehead. Her hair was the same honeyed brown as his own, but in loose ringlets knotted over her shoulder. His arm encompassed her shoulders and he pulled her along so they could catch up to Lydia and Wickham.

They walked along the main thoroughfare of Meryton before reaching the edge of town where the assembly building for balls stood. The road curved in the distance into a thicket of trees. “Where does this lead?” Wickham asked James. Lydia had gone to the assembly house to ask Mr. Robinson as to when the next balls might be held.

“Into Longbourn,” James said, “and Netherfield Park. There’s a fork in the road, and the latter is to the left…”

The sound of horses drew their notice to the bend in the distance, where two distinguishable figures were trotting toward them. Jane brightened, “Do you know of Netherfield Park, sir? It was being let but is currently rented by Charles Bingley and his family.”

“Bingley,” Wickham said, but something in his tone, its quietude, turned James’ attention toward him.

The figures on horseback seemed to have recognized them as well, because the black steed ambled forth with a grinning Bingley on top of him. “Miss Jane! How are you? James and Lydia too! How lucky! We are just coming from your home; Mr. Bennet informed us you were at your aunt’s.”

Lydia had rapidly reappeared on James’ other side, and together they bowed or curtsied. “And good day to you, Lord Darcy,” Jane added lithely. “We were there but we had the pleasure of making Mr. Wickham’s acquaintance…”

Darcy did not acknowledge her pleasantries. He was looking at Wickham, and vice versa. James glanced between them and had the uncanny experience of watching Lord Darcy change color. A brilliant red bloomed in his cheeks as if he was holding his breath against violent emotions. Wickham on the contrary, paled.

With a brusque hand, Darcy handled the reins of his horse; it’s snow white head turned and the last they saw of him was its storm grey croup galloping back toward Netherfield.

James watched him go with great perplexity, until he felt Lydia turning in his direction and met her unimpressed gaze. “I rest my case,” she uttered as if to finish a discussion they had been having.

Bingley did not seem to have noticed what had passed. His horse fidgeted beneath him, awaiting orders, but Charles caught James’ eye. “I apologize, these were to be given under alternative circumstances.”

Out of view on the horse’s other side, Charles extracted two separately wrapped parcels for him. James took them and not a moment later Charles apologized again and rode off after his friend.

Collectively, they decided to return to the hat shop, but not before James had unwrapped the curiously audible of the two and revealed a burlap sack of coffee beans.

_I am sorry I could not provide the chocolate,_ Charles had written on a note within, along with a page he presumed was supplied by the butler on how to brew it.

The party separated at the shop, Mr. Wickham stating that he ought to return to Mr. Denny and the Bennets began their walk home. Mary and Kitty were intrigued by the smell of the coffee and even liked the taste when he offered them each a roasted bean. Mr. Collins was speaking to no one in particular over his conversations with their aunt, until he reached Mrs. Bennet who was very pleased to hear his good opinions of her sister.

Jane remained in the parlor but shared a look with James as he ascended the stairs with his parcels, bidding him to be silent when Mr. Collins voiced, “Apart from her ladyship, of course, I cannot say I have met with so much attention in the whole course of my life.”

So instead he went to their room and set the coffee on the table by the window in favor of his last parcel. It was heavier and sturdy, and upon opening, he recognized the exact same volumes he had borrowed from the shelves of Netherfield. There was not a note attached to them, apart from a silk band wrapped around and within the Dickens cover, marking the place he had stopped reading.

The next day they received an invitation to dinner by their aunt herself, and the following day they rose into the Philips’ home to find Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham already in attendance. The pair greeted Mr. Bennet first and then his wife, before resuming their acquaintances in their offspring. Wickham smiled at James and shook his hand. “You look very well tonight.”

“I’ve been learning how to brew coffee,” James admitted, “and I’ve found it has eye-opening affects.”

“Coffee?” Wickham frowned with humor. “You can stand the bitterness?”

“With a bit of steamed milk and sugar, yes.”

“Steamed milk? I’ve only ever had it with hot milk, not steamed,” Wickham stated, suddenly intrigued.

“My mother sometimes likes steamed milk for her tea,” he explained, sitting beside Wickham on the davenport couch.

“I can smell it on your breath,” Wickham said warmly, leaning close to inhale. One of his hands had come to rest on the wooden trim of the couch but slid along James’ shoulder and down the lapel of his waistcoat. “This color is nice on you. I’m only ever allowed to wear red, black, and blue now.”

The waistcoat was a modest fabric but dyed a rich green. The back was a metal grey with a belt-like fastener so it tapered with his waist. “You’re fortunate those colors suit you,” James replied, causing Wickham to chuckle.

“Thank you, I have that consolation at least.”

Their attention was stolen for some time by the conversation in the room and then a dinner of Shetland pie. Afterward they gathered in the parlour and James met Wickham’s smile as he returned to sit beside him. Wickham offered two glasses. “I was not sure which you would prefer.”

James picked the glass of white wine, knowing his aunt kept dry reds and sweet whites. Wickham had already had a taste of both and lifted his brows. “You have a sweet tooth, Mr. Bennet.”

“Do I? How would you know?”

“The sugar in your coffee,” Wickham remembered. “And now a sweet wine—wait,” he paused, eyeing James until a smile cracked on his face and he sipped his wine to hide it. “My word, James, you’re a flirt.”

James’ smile lingered, and then faded. Wickham’s legs pivoted toward him so their thighs touched. “You were not expecting me to…understand, were you?”

James’ gaze lifted. Wickham appeared patient and appealing. “For most people, there is not anything to understand.”

Wickham leaned against the back of the couch, relaxed as he said, “Only out of ignorance or a hesitancy to understand. Gentlemen in our position are more common than you might suspect.”

James was quite still. This was his first glass of the evening, but he felt warmth in his ribs. “Our position?”

George smiled kindly. “I don’t have a preference in regards towards intimacy.”

The warmth faded. “Oh.”

Wickham blinked, and sighed, “Ah…you…only enjoy the male form?”

James leaned away, rolling the edge of his glass against his bottom lip. “I suppose this makes me closed minded in the worst way.”

Wickham guffawed, catching him off guard. “So severe on yourself. I cannot condemn you for loving men when I find you very beautiful.”

James did not have a ready response, and their discourse fell silent. Wickham tried to salvage, “I suppose this is a wrong time to say I was hoping to visit you in Longbourn?”

“There is not much to see in Longbourn.”

“There is you.”

James gave him a look and Wickham had the grace to appear bashful. “You said once that Netherfield Park is near Longbourn. How close?”

“Five kilometers or so from my family’s farm,” James provided, knowing where Wickham was treading. James had no premeditated desire to discuss the confrontation he had witnessed between Wickham and Darcy, but Wickham seemed intent to begin the subject himself.

“How long have the Bingleys been renting the estate?”

“Over a month,” James said, waiting until, “You said you knew Bingley.”

“Yes, well,” Wickham began, “I knew his father. His father, my own, and the former Lord Darcy shared company.”

James hummed. “So that explains the relation. Darcy is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, as I understand it.”

“Yes,” Wickham said with some measure of severity. “His estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum, aside from the lordship granted to the ancestor of the acreage. Not a house full of historic deeds, but esteemed nonetheless. Though lacking in titles myself, I have been connected with his family since my infancy.”

Wickham paused to analyze James’ reaction to this. “You may well be surprised, James, after seeing the very cold manner of our meeting the other day. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”

James shifted on his seat. “I have spent some days in the same house as him but I cannot say I’ve held more than perhaps one conversation of any merit with him. The overall opinion of him is that he is disagreeable.”

“I have no right to give _my_ opinion,” Wickham said, “as to his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one; I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial. But I believe this overall consensus of his character would astonish circles outside of this one. It would be best to not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. Here you are in your own family.”

James listened and frowned. “You seem more than qualified to present your opinion if you have known the man since childhood, and this opinion is not so much my own as it is all of Hertfordshire’s. Of humble origins we may be, but the people here are proud of the little they have, and to be put at odds against one whose pride is the same but whose wealth far exceeds our own, well, the scales tip for themselves. The people here are not fond of him.”

Wickham was thoughtful for a moment, allowing James to drink his wine. “Many men such as him should not be estimated above their deserts, however with him I believe this does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners. He is seen only as he chooses to be seen.”

“He has admitted to being ill-tempered,” James said.

Wickham inhaled for a deep sigh and shrugged. “I wonder if he is to be in the country much longer.”

“I’ve heard it said the whole party might take leave around January, if that is too unbearable for you.”

“Oh! No, it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy,” Wickham exclaimed in a rush. “If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding him except for a most painful regret at his being what he is. His father, James, was one of the best men who ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had. I can never be in company with his son without being grieved to the soul by a thousand, even the minutest, recollections. His behavior to myself has been scandalous, but I verily believe I could forgive him anything and everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father.”

James’ brows had lifted slowly throughout his speech. Wickham observed his countenance and said, “You seem dubious.”

“It is not my place to inquire further in personal affairs,” he acquiesced, “but such a platform without evidence is difficult to argue for.”

Wickham’s jaw lifted in understanding. “Well, it was long ago and my fate has been decided. I have made my peace with it so I will tell you.”

He looked across the room to where Mr. Denny was conversing with Mr. Bennet and Mr. Philips. “My friend Denny tempted me toward this corps because it is the most respectable and agreeable corps; the prospect of constant society and good society in the country finalized my decision, for I am not meant for solitude. My spirits will not bear it. This employment has been a blessing to me but a military life is not what I was intended for. The church ought to have been my profession.”

James did not conceal his surprise. “The church?”

“Oh yes,” Wickham confirmed. “I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.”

“Darcy?”

“Yes. The late Lord Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, you understand, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it, but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere.”

“How can that be?” James wondered. “I should think such a family could afford lawyers who know how to read a proper will.”

“Indeed,” Wickham admitted, “but such a family is also…how did Collins put it? _Protective_ of their assets, they were. It would be only too easy to sway a lawyer to overlook certain lines in the testament.”

“And you could not seek legal redress?”

Wickham shook his head. “There was such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from the law. A man of honor could not have doubted the intention, but Darcy chose to doubt it, or to treat it as merely a recommendation. He then asserted that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance and imprudence. When I came of age two years ago, the living was given to another man.”

James processed this with more astonishment. The farm had always been promised to him; the prospect of it suddenly being taken from him planted a dark seed in his belly. He looked toward Mr. Collins who was speaking with Mrs. Philips in a renewed light.

“Public humiliation for his deeds seems a mild punishment at best,” he voiced.

Wickham shrugged. “Some time or other, he will be, but it shall not be by me. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse for his temper to be directed at me, but the fact is that we are very different sort of men, and he that he hates me.”

After a pause, James said, “This is the only motive he could have for such cruelty?”

Wickham finished drinking his wine and offered, “A thorough, determined dislike of me—a dislike which I cannot but attribute to jealousy. Had the late Lord Darcy liked me less, or had not ordained to neglect his son more, Darcy and I might have been on very different terms. Sadly I believe this jealousy was sowed early in his life and he had not the temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood.”

James set his wine aside, no longer caring for the taste. “I must admit, I had not thought of Mr. Darcy so bad as this. I had supposed him to be unnecessarily despising of his fellow creatures due to a preference for ignorance, but never did I think he would descend to malicious revenge or injustice.”

“You intelligently spoke of pride, earlier,” Wickham nodded. “I believe almost all his actions can be traced back to his pride, the pride his father crafted in him. This esteem has led him to in fact be incredibly generous to all but myself. The irony of his taking away my living has been his ample charity to his tenants, the poor, and in all regards he is quite liberal with his money. But we are none of us consistent, as is evident by his behavior to me. It may also be attributed to how his pride is rooted in his family that makes me so easily severed from his affections. Much like his love for his father, he is well known as a devoted brother.”

“What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy?” James could not help but ask. For all the talk he had since heard of her, he wanted more information about this legendary character.

But Wickham only shook his head as if in great sadness. “I wish I could call her amiable, but she is too much like her brother. Very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and likewise extremely fond of me. I devoted hours and hours to her amusement, but she is nothing to me now. I’ll grant, she is a handsome girl of fifteen or sixteen now, and no doubt highly accomplished—”

James lost interest almost immediately. When Wickham noticed, he apologized for entering such a bitter subject, but James’ ruminations reopened the matter. “What of Bingley? With such good humour and who is truly amiable, how does he keep such a close friendship with Darcy? You said you know Charles?”

Wickham stared at him for a moment and then looked dejected again. “I’m afraid I knew the father more than the son. He is good, you say?”

James confirmed, “He is incredibly sweet-tempered and charming in comparison to the picture you have painted of Darcy. It’s as if he does not even know the man in his own house.”

Wickham agreed, “It is possible. A gentle character can sometimes come at the risk of observation or sense. Darcy is also trained in the ability to please where it is useful to him.”

James frowned once more. “On the contrary, Darcy seems perfectly comfortable _not pleasing_ when it is an inconvenience to him.”

Wickham rose from the couch with a hand on James’ knee for leverage. “You would certainly know the man better than I. For all the years he and I spent with the same toys and the same education, I hardly know the man. And his aunt de Bourgh, being as fond as she is of him, has made it certain that I have little to no engagement with the family forever more.”

James froze, his hand catching Wickham’s wrist. “De Bourgh?”

Wickham gazed down at him. “Yes, Lady Catherine de Bourgh was sister to the late Lady Anne Darcy. Mr. Collins’ patroness is Darcy’s aunt. Collins has not told you?”

“I do not ask further into Mr. Collins’ life than I have to,” James blurted.

The smile returned to Wickham’s face as he said, “Well Darcy was born into wealth and will be granted immense power before long. Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh is of course the heiress to a great fortune and all of her parents’ connections. A union of matrimony will unite the two families; at least, it was spoken of while I was a child and spared from adult evils.”

James had much to process. An arranged marriage slowed the cogs of his mind and he could not help but say, “I have heard that she is sickly.”

“In health only,” Wickham said as he slowly began to depart. “She takes after her mother: headstrong, conceited, and greatly arrogant. Birds of a feather, that family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [~ Read all the things here ~](https://www.pondermoniums.com/)


	7. Demonstration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [~ Read all the things here ~](https://www.pondermoniums.com/)

James lay in bed, the cat on his chest while he pondered all he had heard. He had felt inclined to toss Wickham’s accusations aside until he had mentioned the Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Mr. Collins had not been silent regarding her throughout the evening but James had the suspicion he was ignorant of the lady’s nephew. Wickham had procured that information himself, and with such ease as to give it credence.

“What is it?”

The cat’s paw flexed on his collarbone as if to keep him from startling and disturbing her rest. Instead, James looked at Jane with surprise. She smiled softly and extended a finger to wiggle between the cat’s ears. “She purrs so loudly when you’re awake, as if she’s trying to be heard over your thoughts.”

As if in confirmation, each exhalation yielded loud dry rumbles, only broken by a sharp yawn. Her jaws spread so far she rolled onto her side, whiskers tickling James’ neck. Jane chortled quietly.

“Darcy is Lady de Bourgh’s nephew,” he said.

“Oh?” her tawny brows lifted.

“Wickham grew up with him.”

“Based on their confrontation, the years did not reap fondness?”

He hesitated. “No.”

Jane rolled onto her stomach, holding the pillow to her chest for leverage. “Did Wickham tell you all this last night?”

James’ brow furrowed, but a look to the window revealed dawn lightening the sky. “Yes.”

“Why does another family’s disputes trouble you?”

“Because Charles and Darcy have remained close, and Charles is too transparent to cause discord.”

“Excuse you,” Jane scolded. “I may become the lady of his household.”

“Indeed,” James seconded, “which means you may have to witness these matters firsthand. The Darcys and de Bourghs are not Bingleys, but their proximity may erase such distinctions. I don’t want you caught within their divisions.”

She was quiet for a time before she asked, “Was Wickham’s departure from Lord Darcy so severe?”

James relayed what had crossed between Mr. Wickham and himself. Jane listened patiently, with astonishment and concern. When he had finished, it was not in her nature to question anyone who revealed even a drop of good intention. This resulted in her speaking for all parties, insisting, “They have both been deceived, I think. We can form no idea on how, exactly. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them.”

James listened and voiced, “I do remember his saying at Netherfield of the implacability of his resentments. An unforgiving temper would yield a dreadful disposition.”

“You can’t take that as his attestation,” Jane defended. “Consider this from Mr. Darcy’s side, to be treating his father’s favorite in such a manner—and one whom his father had promised to provide for. It is impossible. No man of common humanity, especially on who has such value for his character, could be capable of it.”

“Well do exonerate everyone, will you?” James retorted. “I’ll have no one to despise otherwise.”

She gave him a look. “His most intimate friends cannot be so deceived of him, can they? I admit Charles’ kindness can make him ignorant but his sisters not so.”

James huffed, the feline rising on his chest. “I am more inclined to think the sisters see Darcy as a rare beast for capture than Wickham is able to craft such an intricate lie. Such facts and names were given with ease, but let Darcy contradict them if he can.”

“You’re not going to confront him about this, are you?” Jane startled. “Lizzy, please, just leave this alone. Wickham will go wherever the king bids and Darcy or his enemies need never enter our lives again. I certainly shan’t ask any Bingley for their knowledge about it.”

When they might see a Bingley again was unknown until later that very morning. James heard the commotion downstairs from his place within the cat’s fur. Lifting his head from the soft fur, he recognized Charles’ voice bidding the family good morning. “Oh! But where is the young Mr. Bennet?”

“The oaf is lazing upstairs!” Lydia chimed.

“Hush,” Jane’s soft voice defended. “Forgive him, he hardly slept last night.”

“My word, doing what?” came Caroline’s voice. James lowered his head back down. He let his consciousness fade back to slumber, until he knew by the sudden volume of his sisters that Charles had finally made the arrangements for his ball.

When he heard the Bingleys depart, he descended the stairs to find his family fluttering at the dining table, apart from Mary, Mr. Bennet, and Mr. Collins, who appeared tranquil in comparison. Lydia was singing the melody of her favorite dance before she looked upon Collins.

“Do _you_ dance, Mr. Collins?”

He perked up pleasantly. “I am by no means of opinion, I assure you, that a ball of this kind can have an evil tendency. I am so far from objecting to dancing that I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening. I dread neither a rebuke from the Archbishop or Lady Catherine, and I take this opportunity to ask one of my cousins of soliciting the first two dances of the evening.”

“First two?” Lydia huffed.

“Are you volunteering, darling?” Mr. Bennet smiled to himself from behind his London newspaper. Lydia gaped like a horrified fish until Mary diverted their attention.

“While I can have my mornings to myself, I think it no sacrifice to join occasionally in evening engagements. Society has claims on us all, and I profess myself one of those who consider intervals of recreation and amusement as desirable for everybody.”

Lydia was truly lost for speech. Mr. Bennet chuckled and patted her hand. “I am sure the young men will await your hand patiently for a dance.”

As for James, he listened to Lydia distracting herself by talking to no one in particular about which members of the regiments were going to the ball. When Mr. Collins left she hissed how she had anticipated giving those dances to Mr. Wickham or a few other names lost on James’ ear.

“Lydia,” their mother scolded. “Just last night I heard Mr. Collins compliment you on your wit and vivacity. And what a thought: to be the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, right across from Rosings Park!”

The roses in Lydia’s cheeks wilted and James coughed over his large cup of tea. The threat of Mr. Collins’ finding a wife was suddenly a very real terror in Lydia’s eyes, while Mary was contemplatively silent beside her.

It was an even greater dread that it rained all but constantly until the night of the Netherfield ball, limiting the youngest Bennets’ visits to Meryton. Not that James minded; he occupied himself in the kitchen with the windows open, listening to the rain while wax and oils simmered on the stove. His father helped him cast the larger candles while Jane quite liked staining paper for labels or wrappings; overall decorating the candles for their intended recipients.

When the evening of the ball arrived, the Bennet household was all but turned upside-down. Ribbons and petticoat skirts hung from doorways while lost mates of shoes were kicked aside in the corridors.

“Mama! My _blue_ one! Where’s my blue one?” Lydia called through the walls.

James and Jane frowned at one another and then at the robin’s egg dress she had somehow left in their room. “Don’t tell her,” James brightened.

Jane guffawed. “You’re cruel.”

“It’s the fool’s fault she left it here. Are you ready?”

She sat at the vanity table for him to stand behind her and do her hair. Baby’s breath and forget-me-not flowers waited on the surface for him to braid delicately into her hair. He had already combed his hair and was dressed in his grey trousers and waistcoat though his shirt had yet to be tucked in. He could hear through the wall that Lydia settled on her green dress instead and was eagerly imagining what Mr. Wickham would be wearing.

“The winter dress attire or the summer?” she asked Kitty loudly. “Oh, I do hope it’s the winter!”

“Speaking of,” Mr. Bennet was heard, “It will be a cold evening. Bring your coats.”

“Kitty, could you find my shawl—”

“Coat, Lydia,” her father reiterated. “Surely you can bear to be seen in it for the moment it takes to get out of the carriage and reach the cloak room.”

“But papa—”

James interrupted, “If I have to take care of you because you couldn’t be bothered to wear proper garments, I’ll make you drink three pots of vinegar.”

The house was silent. Then they saw a coat angrily land on the banister outside of their door, ready to be taken downstairs.

Dinner was a rushed affair, the daughters eager to taste the sort of hors d'oeuvres a cook such as the Bingleys could afford would make. By the time they piled into their carriage and entered the queue of guests and regimental horse riders, James was just as eager as Lydia to see Wickham, simply for the reason that it meant getting out of the carriage.

“Oh, there’s the Colonel! And—” Lydia was pointing out of the window.

“Do you see Wickham?” Kitty asked.

“Not yet! He must already be inside!”

James, of course, had not shared with her how one of their hosts might allow all of the regiments in, apart from one. Thinking upon it now, he realized he was quite eager to see Wickham for his own personal reasons. He swallowed thickly in the stuffy carriage and waited patiently for them to rock to a final stop.

“Goodness,” Mrs. Bennet sighed, her fan waving energetically despite the descent of late autumn around them. “Go on girls, up you get. We mustn’t keep Netherfield waiting.”

Lydia flew up the stairs with Kitty in tow. Mr. Collins had ridden with Mr. Hill on the box seat, and was now busy admiring various persons he thought he recognized from Lady de Bourgh’s card table. No one paid him much attention.

“Jane, dear,” their mother tried to usher ahead. “Why don’t you greet him with your father?”

“I’ll stay behind, mama,” she refused kindly. This obviously displeased their mother but they were already within the entrance of Netherfield, and Charles stood beside his sisters to welcome their guests. His eyes brightened upon seeing them.

“Mr. Bennet! I’m so pleased you could make it! How are you, Miss Lydia and Katherine?”

They curtsied in unison before Lydia spoke for the both of them. “We’re absolutely breathless at the decorations! The music within sounds divine already. I’m so pleased you kept your word for a ball, Mr. Bingley!”

“A person is nothing without their word,” he smiled kindly, and then turned, “Wouldn’t you agree, William?”

The family turned to see Lord Darcy coming down the grand staircase to meet them. “I do,” he said simply.

Lydia leered slightly and reclaimed Bingley’s focus. “I am so glad you invited the regiments! I am so eager to be reacquainted with Colonel Forrester, Mr. Wickham, and of course, Mr. Denny,” she said, considering herself clever.

None of the Bingleys gave any reaction to the names she offered apart from Charles. “We’ve just met Mr. Denny,” he chimed. “Your aunt and uncle Philips arrived with him not moments prior.”

James let his eyes slide to Darcy on the step, his added elevation allowing him to examine the heads coming through the doors, those craned to see the high ceilings of Netherfield house, as well as ogling him and the Bingleys in turn.

“All right,” Mr. Bennet ushered gently. Lydia, Kitty, and Mary went ahead through to the other rooms. Mr. Bennet stayed long enough to keep Mr. Collins’s introduction brief, along with Mrs. Bennet’s. This left Jane and James to finish.

Charles took her hand and kissed its back. “You are a vision, Miss Bennet.”

Pink roses blossomed in Jane’s cheeks as Caroline said, “You’ve dressed with more than usual care, Mr. Bennet.”

Charles tore his gaze from Jane to see James’ cool grey trousers under his newer buttoned, black coat. It was thin and weak against the approaching winter, but for a formal engagement, it tapered to his waste and accentuated his figure very well. James chose to keep his tongue dull at this moment and remained silent. Charles smiled and reached for his hand. “Jamie, you look well—”

James did not take his hand, causing them to look down at the canvas sack he was offering, along with a medium sized wooden crate. “It’s rather late in the season,” he apologized, “but for the insects.”

Charles opened the bag to see the tall column of a cedar candle. Then in the crate, were much smaller candles of coffee, cinnamon, wine, lavender, and earl grey. Charles picked one up at random to smell, his features flattening with awe. “You made these for us? Jamie, you needn’t have—”

He shook his head. “It was the least I could do. Opening one’s home to strangers is no small thing, no matter how large the vessel is. I hope wherever you settle, these might help the transition.”

Charles was truly expressionless at this. Caroline frowned as her eyes wandered over the personal candles. She picked up the one smelling faintly of sweet rosé. “There is one for each of us?”

“Jane, you decorated these, surely?” Mrs. Hurst diverted with her own awe. “Your calligraphy is marvelous—”

Charles broke through his sisters on either side of him and pulled James close in embrace. The air startled out of James’ chest upon the abrupt contact, his arms opening to move the crate aside, leaving them chest to chest. James’ eyes softened, his lashes heavily fluttering over his eyes. The sensation of Charles against him was…more than pleasant.

“Charles, this is quite inappropriate,” Caroline reminded quietly.

James felt Charles’ fist clench the back of his coat before he unwillingly released him. “Shall we light the big one, then? Tis not the season for mosquitos but the flies stubbornly abound.”

And so a footman took the gifts and the Bennet siblings moved on. They found their sisters in the room with the food, decoratively piled on silver tiers. Lydia and Kitty were eagerly pestering their aunt and Mr. Denny, the latter of whom was looking and sounding apologetic upon the eldest siblings’ arrival.

“Oh!” Lydia exclaimed haughtily. “But he _must_ be here! He wouldn’t dare miss such an occasion!”

“I am sorry, my dear,” Mr. Denny said with great sadness. “I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.”

Mr. Denny stopped quickly with a glance around them. This part of his intelligence, though ignored by Lydia, was caught by James. It had previously been a source of reprieve or humour, waiting to meet Mr. Wickham here, but now the emptiness of his absence left James realizing how desperately he had wanted to see him. After the warmth Charles had left on his coat front, James had been looking forward to Wickham’s conversation, his wit, as well as his open understanding. Against his better judgment, James felt a keen sharpening of understanding regarding the displeasure shared amongst his younger sisters towards Mr. Darcy.

It was a strange surprise when the man himself, the Bingleys, and the Hursts joined the rest of the party, having quickly finished greeting the rest of their guests. It was an even better surprise that Charlotte Lucas was with them, having arrived last. She and James greeted each other immediately, the latter drawing her away to the cloak room.

“Goodness, you haven’t tired of company already?” she teased, handing her satin, wool-lined cloak to the footman. “This is quick, even for you.”

They exchanged jaded expressions with one another as he also transferred his coat. As they left the room, he said tersely. “Wickham is not here.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

He quickly informed her of everything that had transpired between himself and Wickham, including the past Wickham had shared.

Charlotte listened with great patience and receptivity. “I understand your liking and unease, but really, I’m surprised at you. Your sisters could each experience the same event and then retell the account in vastly different detail. To so quickly despise Lord Darcy seems a bit illogical.”

“You sound like Jane,” he grumbled.

“I should hope so,” Charlotte said with lifted brows. “She is the keenest Bennet apart from you and your father. That is immensely flattering, thank you.”

He could not help but laugh, and she shared in his mirth. Her gloved hand touched his cheek. “Really, Lizzy, you were not formed for ill humour; I miss the days when anger and sorrow did not dwell long in your spirits—”

“Charming moldings,” Mr. Collins interrupted. His head was craned toward the domed ceiling. “Marvelous frescoes. Not as many as Lady Catherine would deem appropriate but a charming country estate, nonetheless.”

He continued on his way, possibly not even noticing to whom he had spoken. “Who was that?” Charlotte wondered.

“That,” James said bluntly, “is my cousin. Mr. Collins.”

“Oh,” she acknowledged.

“Mm,” he returned, watching the man interact more with the Bingleys' furniture than people until the first dance was announced, which he clearly intended to follow through with Lydia.

“When did he arrive?” Charlotte asked as they moved to the ballroom and watched Lydia remarkably handle Mr. Collins’ missteps. It was likely due to Kitty and her partner beside them that Lydia did not erupt then and there.

“A year ago? A month? It’s hard to say now.”

“What is his given name?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You’re certainly a harvest of information,” she retorted.

“I can tell you about Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her parsonage,” he returned, which made her frown before he related the oddities of his cousin to her.

“Mr. Darcy’s aunt?” she brightened with interest. “Well they ought to know one another shouldn’t they?”

“They don’t,” he corrected, “And I daresay I wouldn’t wish that experience on Darcy.”

“What experience?”

They both turned toward the unmistakable voice. “Lord Darcy,” Charlotte curtsied, and James bowed as much as the closeness of people allowed. “We were just watching the dance. James’ sisters and cousin are in it.”

Darcy nodded distantly, his gaze vaguely crossing over the dancers. “It is finishing.”

Indeed it was, as announced by the seething arrival of Lydia beside James. “I demand salvation,” she all but hissed.

“How fortunate, you’re with a cleric,” he said pleasantly.

“He thinks I am to dance with him twice!”

“I remember, that is what was promised,” he nodded.

“Lizzy!” she hissed desperately.

“What am I to do?”

“I don’t know! Dance with him yourself!”

“I think that might put mama in an early grave,” he declined. “I have already done my part in greying her hair.”

_“Please, Lizzy!”_ she pleaded, as Mr. Collins joined them.

“I have not decided if the music is avant garde or misplaced. I should think I would have heard the melodies of high fashion but I do understand that one’s preference limits one’s awareness in these matters.”

“It is quite all right, Mr. Collins,” Lydia proclaimed. “An unknown melody can misplace one’s steps a great deal. It’s the unfamiliarity, you know.”

“I do,” he nodded. “I have been credited many a time for my lightness of step and quickness of foot.”

“I can’t imagine where,” Lydia said bluntly, and then her tone changed. James eyed her narrowly even before she had reached her point. “Mr. Collins, I am afraid I’ll need to gracefully decline our next dance. That is, unless I have a proper demonstration. You know, Jamie is also known to be good on his feet.”

She cast her charming smile on her brother, whose silence held the weight of sororicide. Mr. Collins was considering. “It would be quite unprecedented for two men to partner for the dance, however I suppose this would not be a coupling, so much as a teaching and demonstration. Indeed.”

James had the horror of his cousin’s gaze landing on him. “Cousin, would you do me the kindness of teaching me the dance?”

James was suddenly jealous of water and its ability to evaporate. “I do not think this the right place and time—”

“It is absolutely the right place and time,” Lydia interrupted sharply, her charm fading. “Mama is with Lady Lucas in the other room along with _most of the officers._ The start of the ball is the best time for a demonstration, before the guests eat and drink their fill and come to the ballroom.”

_Do this while there are so few eyes, so I needn’t be seen in your stead!_ she glared silently. They stared venom at each other.

“The lesson shan’t last four minutes,” Charlotte said beside him. James looked every bit betrayed.

James found himself in the line of dancers, facing Mr. Collins. The only comfort was that it was a group dance in which a leader and a follower were not determined, and Jane and Charles stood beside him. They peeked at him and he explained tersely, “He asked for a demonstration.”

They nodded their mutual understanding as well as silent apologies.

Watching Collins dance had been a sorry affair. Being the partner to it was something else entirely. It was a dance of mortification.

Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, often moved wrongly without being aware of it, despite the very obvious examples all around him. He bumped into Charles and very nearly stepped on his feet. When it came time to walk around each other in a counter-clockwise circle, he insisted on doing the opposite. When the dancers held hands to form a circle, Collins was meant to stand opposite James; instead he crossed in front of Jane, thinking he was meant to hold the hand of his partner, not the people next to him. While some might think this romantic, it disoriented everyone involved.

He returned to Charlotte’s side with the same absent-mindedness that had taken him to the dance to begin with. His jaw hung open since Mr. Collins first rejected one of his corrections, and he had never quite closed it. “Dear Lizzy,” Charlotte giggled warily. “You look as if you’ve just returned from war.”

He inhaled as if his lungs had been empty for the entirety of the dance. “I wonder if this _is_ how it feels.”

She laughed fully and pulled him into the next dance. The familiarity of Charlotte rejuvenated James’ spirits, who then danced with a local officer’s sister alongside her brother and Kitty. They seemed as close as he and Jane, lending to merry and pleasant conversation between the four of them before he danced with the Longs’ daughter beside Jane and Charles once more, with Charlotte nearby. Afterward, the four of them went to the wine display with laughter in their throats. James finished a glass of water before starting his second helping of wine. He turned, intending to ask Charlotte for another dance—

“Mr. Bennet.” Lord Darcy stood behind him instead. “Would you join me in the parlour adjacent to the library during the next dance?”

“Alright.”

Darcy nodded slightly and left.

It was a long moment before James processed what had occurred. Charlotte stood beside him, patiently waiting. Slowly, he looked at her. She nodded. He shook his head in immense disbelief, “What? Why?”

Charlotte, greatly amused, shook her head in turn. “I cannot say. I daresay you may find him very agreeable. Go, the musicians are almost ready. But Lizzy—”

She caught his sleeve, “I caution you to guard your tongue. Darcy may be the only lord here but this does not change his station. Do not let your fancy for Wickham mark your behavior as unpleasant in Darcy’s eye, a man whose consequence is ten times that of Wickham.”

This left Jamie without words, so he made no answer as she gave him a little push. James was now aware of how his raiment stuck to him after his exertions. He made his way to the breakfast parlour, knowing it was next to the library, but when he arrived guests were visiting the pudding table, whereas Darcy was nowhere to be seen.

Crossing through to the library, a footman gave him a look, and James knew why as he entered the dark and empty library. James supposed it was his previous occupancy in this house that allowed him to pass. As he traversed the library, James peered out of the windows at the veranda, and he knew the lack of light shining through other windows meant he had entered the side of the house restricted to guests.

Apart from the doors to the terrace and breakfast parlour, there was only one other door in the library. James’ hand lingered on the knob. Should he knock? He was invited, but it may not be the correct room…

He knocked lightly, opening the door on silent hinges. Darcy stood in the center of an unfurnished room, beneath the bluish shards of moonlight striking the floor from windows set within the ceiling. Dying leaves had sporadically fallen over the glass, leaving kaleidoscopic shadows.

James shut the door behind him, and Darcy turned to him, but they stood for some time without speaking a word. James could hear the music faintly through the walls, and began to wonder exactly how long Darcy intended to keep him here. Having been invited, he considered not breaking the silence, but then impatiently fancied a sort of punishment in making the man speak.

“You asked me here, my lord?”

“Yes,” Darcy replied. Then silence.

_“Why?”_ James drawled slowly. Charlotte might have fainted at the slight.

Darcy, however, gave no indication of insult. Or it was his request in which James' punishment awaited: “I would appreciate your hand in this dance.”

Breath wavered in James throat as if he had not heard him. “Pardon?” he blurted.

“A demonstration, as it was called,” Darcy reiterated.

James blinked, analyzing. “You want me to dance with you? This dance is specifically for a man and a woman.”

“A leader and a follower, yes.”

James understood, now, Darcy’s reasons for bringing him here. “I suppose you’re not asking me to teach you how to follow. But you’ve danced before.”

“I have, although…” Darcy wavered, “it does not bring me the sense of ease with which your feet seem to move.”

James relaxed somewhat. “You mean your dance teachers could not find a method to help you keep to a tempo?”

Darcy’s eyes did not move from him. “More like I outgrew their teachings quicker than they could manage.”

James inclined his chin, understanding. It was not abnormal for young Meryton boys to suddenly outgrow their trousers and leave their boyish grace behind. “What would you have me do?”

“Can you follow?”

“I have four headstrong sisters, of course I can follow.”

It was a testament to either Darcy’s patience or his determination that he simply gestured for James to stand opposite him. Darcy bowed at the hips, inducing James to as well. The dance was well underway in the main ballroom but the tempo was repetitive, allowing them to listen and wait for the moment the step sequence restarted—

The immediacy of their steps falling into place was lost in the wake of Darcy’s lack of gloves. The way he moved with James was easy, reminding him of Charlotte but the bare skin holding his hand was far from her satin. They stepped toward one another, Darcy taking James’ hand as they turned to walk through the rows of dancers who were not there. The shadows of the windowpanes above served as their markers, parting ways to walk around invisible dancers like the curves of cloverleaves. Resuming their place in the line, they stepped toward one another, and stepped back, the dance bringing them together and then pulling them away.

“This is usually when you engage your partner in conversation,” James reminded the next they came together.

“Is it,” Darcy said, not so much as a question but a reply.

James frowned slightly as they moved down the line. “Do the sisters not speak to you when you dance with them?”

“They speak. I listen,” he answered, striding through the clover curve. James could not help but laugh. Caroline’s courting seemed to be as effective as a fly bouncing off a horse’s flank. Darcy’s eyes were on him. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Not you, no.”

“What then?”

Darcy took his hand, and they walked. “No no, if you’re here to practice, it is your turn to remark on something trivial, such as the size of the room, or the number of couples.”

Darcy’s lips curved with a glance at the lack thereof around them. “I hadn’t considered—do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?”

“Sometimes. It would look odd to be entirely silent, yet for the advantage of some, conversation may be arranged as such they may have the convenience of saying as little as possible.”

“Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that your are gratifying mine?”

“I am not the one disgusted by dancing with a man, my lord,” James declared quietly.

Darcy went silent, but James could feel his gaze on him all the while. Finally, “You were listening, then. At the Meryton ball.”

“I am capable of observing how private balls are pleasanter than public ones. As gatekeeper, you may limit the options and choose more specifically who to bother dancing with.”

“Your tone suggests this is a trait not to be desired,” Darcy intuited.

“That is not for me to say,” James countered. “I cannot ignore a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We share an unsocial, taciturn disposition.”

“You mean to insult me, James,” Darcy said, taking him by surprise. They faced each other across the line. “We do not share this disposition at all. I have only seen amiable qualities as to be desired in social environments.”

James was not sure how to respond, much less was he sure if Darcy had just given him a compliment. He made no answer, and they were again silent until James realized they had danced through silence and another song had started in the distance. James’ step halted, his hand having lifted to take Darcy’s hand once more—

“Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?” Darcy inquired, pulling him into the next dance. This music was slower. Darcy’s palm rested against James’ as they revolved around one another.

“Yes,” he admitted, “well…we are close to our mother’s sister.”

“Mm,” Darcy acknowledged, and whether this was his final response or not was negated by James’ step faltering. Darcy looked him over with vacant inquiry.

“I don’t know these steps,” he admitted reluctantly.

“It is a variation of the waltz,” Darcy explained.

“Oh,” James scoffed. “I’ve never danced the waltz.”

“Why not?”

James peered at him. “We country folk prefer something a bit more lively. A ball for us is a large affair. The waltz is…”

“Intimate,” Darcy finished.

“There’s a word for it—what are you doing?”

“Teaching you,” Darcy said as he helped James stand erect with a hand on his waist, pulling him forward. “It is an equal exchange, is it not?”

James was inclined to think not. Darcy moved with the skill of a well-taught pupil. The only area he lacked prowess in was conversation.

“What—?”

“We waltz down the line, and then part similar to before,” Darcy narrated. “Right foot back.”

“If a woman ever asks me to waltz, I will lose my dignity as a partner,” James muttered, watching Darcy’s feet.

Darcy chuckled, snapping James’ gaze back up. “It is easier than you think,” he assured, and pulled James along. Just as before, once they were down the line, Darcy released him and they mirrored each other’s curved paths. They stepped together, palms touching as they joined in the parting touch, and stepped back; seemingly for the other couples to waltz past. When they rejoined Darcy instructed, “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

James lifted a brow at that. He had a wonderful view of the man’s cravat. White silk—

His spine shot erect as fingertips slid up his spine. “Do not slouch,” Darcy explained. “If the idea is to converse with your partner, you must look at them.”

“What were we even speaking of?” James all but growled.

“Your aunt,” Darcy said rather pleasantly.

James paused, his thoughts coming full circle before he ventured, “Yes, when you met us the other day, we had visted her and had just been forming a new acquaintance.”

The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features. “Do not speak of him.”

Their dance slowed. “You truly hate him so much?”

“Yes,” Darcy surprised him. “If love and hate rest within the same chamber of the heart, he has marked his place in mine.” They stood stagnantly in the light, Darcy stiff around him.

“Love?” James echoed with disdain. “Then he has been so unlucky as to lose _your_ friendship, and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.”

Darcy’s features were hard, but moonlight cut through his irises, making his eyes appear both cold and soft, sunken within his face. “Wickham is blessed with the happy manners that ensure his making friends. Whether he may be capable of retaining them is less certain... Has he so captured your loyalties?”

_Yes_ James was ready to say, but…something…in his tone made James falter. “He has my sympathies,” he revised.

Darcy’s lips parted, a furrow between his brows. “Then he has told you very little.”

Air stopped in James’ throat. “What?”

Darcy was close. He spoke softly. “As one who values the study of people, I would think prejudice beneath you.”

James blinked, unable to navigate where this was going. “I remember you saying you hardly ever forgave; that your resentment, once created, was unappeasable… I imagine this makes you very cautious in its creation.”

“It does,” he affirmed gently.

“Then it is incumbent for those of stubborn opinion to secure a proper judgment at first.”

“To what purpose?”

James’ jaw angled upward to meet him. “To illustrate your character…my lord.”

“You may forgo my title. You forget it often enough anyway. Am I so difficult to read?”

James’ features stiffened, but not out of anger. “I am trying to make it out.”

“And what is your success?”

He swallowed thickly, gently shaking his head and looking away. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you, which puzzle me exceedingly…”

The hand holding his let go in exchange for Darcy’s fingers to run along his jaw, gently bringing their gazes back together. “Then allow me to make the correction: I was not disgusted by the prospect of dancing with a man...nor in the execution of it.”

James’s eyelashes were heavy over his eyes. He realized too late that he was staring at Darcy’s mouth. His waist was sensitive to Darcy’s hand there, as well as the slight pressure pulling them flush together. Darcy’s lips were soft and full, and James’ eyes were closed before he could help it.

Darcy’s mouth was as soft to the touch as to the eye, but not as soft as the pressure with which he applied. Light and fleeting was the kiss upon his lips, and tremulous was the breath between them when he parted.

The hand left his waist.

James could no longer feel Darcy’s breath on his mouth.

A heel clipped on the floor, opening James’ eyes.

The last he saw of Darcy was his back as he shut the door behind him. James was assaulted by two unavoidable thoughts: how desperately he had awaited a second kiss, and how swiftly Darcy had removed himself from the room.

James took several moments to recover himself before he rejoined Jane. However, upon viewing her, he saw a woman very happily settled. Standing with Charles and others, though the others were there for him they laughed with her and engaged her in eager conversation. Charles’ hand occasionally touched her waist or her hand, moments of agreement and affection. She was the lady of Netherfield in all but name.

James removed himself before meeting her, determined not to venture near her lest he shatter the moment, and future.

Charlotte was nearby, so he joined her. She brightened at the sight of him and tilted her head. He knew the words resting on her tongue but shook his head sharply, denying her inquiries as to his recent dance partner. Charlotte frowned with worry, but accepted his wishes, which was fortunate since James realized Darcy had not gone far. The man’s gaze was on Charles, clearly observing him but refraining from joining his intimate party. This, however, put him right in place to hear Charlotte’s father, Sir William Lucas, address James.

“Hello, Jamie,” he said a bit loudly, and far from sober. “Viewing the local rituals?” he said with a blatant look at Jane and Charles. He lifted his walking stick to gesture about the room, “Lovely venue it will be, certainly…for a certain _desirable event._ What congratulations will flow in! Ah, but let me not disturb ye young people.”

On any other occasion, James would not have minded Sir William’s banter, but as soon as his red face passed by, Darcy’s stern and shocked one was in view. He met James’ eyes for such a moment as might have been accidental, so sharply did he cut his gaze to Charles as if he was just now understanding what was happening between them.

It was a strange and wholly unwelcome distraction in the arrival of Mr. Collins, who disclosed, “I have just found out, by singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of this house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and her mother Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have though of my meeting with a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly! I am most thankful that the discover is made in time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total ignorance of the connection must plead my apology.”

“You are _not_ going to introduce yourself to Lord Darcy,” James said, both demanding and beseeching.

“Indeed I am,” Mr. Collins nodded. “I shall entreat his pardon for not having done it earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine’s _nephew,_ cousin! It will be in my power to assure him that her ladyship was quite well yesterday se’nnight.”

“Your ignorance is finely placed,” James hissed darkly. “You addressing him without introduction will be considered an impertinent freedom. Forgo whatever compliments to his aunt.”

“Mr. Bennet,” Collins said, in what he thought was an assertive tone, “cousins though we are, I am of a clerical office, and I consider such offices to be as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom—”

Both Charlotte and James were the epitome of blunt and unflattering surprise. Collins said a great deal more regarding clergy-this or humility-that but it was lost on James until he finished with the insult, “Pardon me for neglecting your advice, though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by education and habitual study to decide on what is right than a young farmer like yourself.”

He watched in horror as the man so unfortunately tied to his family approached the most prominent member of the assembly. It was a small consolation to see the absolute shock and perplexity on Darcy’s features.

“Did he just equate himself with the king of England?” Charlotte said with a good deal of dark humour and awe.

“As well as the stupidest gutter rat,” James rephrased. He turned to leave her. “I’ve lost my patience with this place.”

“Jamie!”

James turned to find Charles too near to escape. “Were you going outside? That sounds lovely. It has gotten quite stuffy in here.”

“No, I…I was leaving.”

Charles stared at him. “Leaving? Is the ball really so terrible?”

“Of course not,” Charlotte salvaged with a look to James. “Jamie isn’t feeling well.”

“Is the heat too much?” Charles wondered eagerly. “Come, we must go outside.”

Charles grasped two glasses of wine on their way out, and thus James was swept to the veranda, the evening appearing far from over. “I have missed you,” Charles said, looking out over the stretch of grass, gardens, and lake, made blue by the night. “We’ve barely spoken tonight. I feel as if I’ve barely seen you in weeks.”

He handed a glass to James, who simply set it down for a maid to find later. Charles’ lips on his own paused, and lifted. He joined James where he leaned against the balcony. “What is the matter?”

He sighed, “A growing number of things.”

“That sounds dreadful,” he uttered, deadpan.

“Indeed,” James could not help but huff a laugh.

Charles’ knee bumped his thigh. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” James answered easily, refusing his gaze.

“Jamie,” Charles scolded mildly. “This is not how friendship works.”

“I’m not convinced you can claim much on the matter—” James accused, but Charles’ lips cut them short. James was washed within the familiar scent that was _Charles,_ along with the added salt of perspiration and taste of wine. Like an ember falling into James’ chest, a sudden, hot anger infused him. As if sensing this, Charles pulled back slightly, silently asking why James was not returning his kiss.

“You should have kissed me earlier,” James almost whispered. Charles thought this an allowance to kiss him again, but James’ hand on his chest stopped him. “Charles…whatever you are seeking to explore under the excuse of drunkenness needs to stop.”

The blue in Bingley’s eyes was sober as he slowly leaned back an appropriate distance away. It hurt more than James could bear to ask, “Are you in love with my sister or aren’t you?” His voice was hoarse.

Bingley was thoughtful in his silence. “I…I feel a great deal for her. I may even love her,” he admitted.

“Then why are you here with me?” he dreaded.

“I have never been in love, so my confidence in such matters is weak,” Charles looked away. “I did not mean to take advantage, Jamie, I am sorry.”

“It is not me who deserves the apology,” he returned.

Fear was prevalent in Charles’ eyes. “Do you truly wish me to?”

James swallowed, but his throat was dry. “No. I want to be forgotten. I want Jane’s happiness. If you can provide her that, then I will be satisfied.”

Charles’s chin slowly fell as he contemplated this, inducing James to add, “I do not mean you must marry her. If the feelings are not there then they never will be, but if something _is_ present, then nurture it. Do not distract yourself with me.”

“I understand,” he replied softly, nodding. “You…are a very good brother, Jamie. I respect and admire you for it. Please do not misunderstand, I do care for Jane very much, but I will feel amiss if our friendship comes to a close tonight.”

“Well,” James played at a scoff. “Far be it for me to be cruel to a potential brother-in-law.”

Charles smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes. “I am now sorry Mr. Wickham is not here.”

Whatever cheer had been returning to James’ heart faded quickly. “Why?”

“You seemed…crestfallen when I revealed he was not here. Are you quite happy in his company?”

James knew what Charles was really asking. “Yes. No. I mean…we haven’t—”

“I understand,” he chuckled. “I hope, if he does make his reappearance, that he makes you very happy.”

James could feel Charles preparing to go back indoors, so he quickly curtailed, “Does he speak of him? Darcy, I mean.”

Charles’ brows lifted. “William? No? Oh,” he tipped his head in acquiescence. “I suppose it is no secret the Wickhams were stewards to the Darcy family until this generation. But William seems no worse for wear without a Wickham by his side, if that is what you mean?”

It wasn’t, but Charles had verified himself as ignorant. James replied, “I had just heard that Mr. Wickham and Darcy knew one another. I expected he would be here.”

“I certainly sent an invitation,” Charles provided, “but it was he who refused to come. Wickham was already well on his way out of William’s life by the time I entered their intimate circle, so he bore no obligation to meet me.”

James nodded and changed the subject. “I am feeling better now.”

“Once more unto the breach?” Charles teased. He opened his elbow to him, and James curled his arm within it.

The calm established between them was short lived, however.

Upon entering the house once more, a voice singing from the piano room paled James’ complexion. He left Charles to find Mary at the keys. It was not that she had an unpleasant voice, but a weak one, which leant itself to uneven notes which her lack of artistic style could not disguise.

Scanning the room, James found his father, who sensed his son’s eyes on him met his gaze. James silently entreated him to interfere, lest Mary be singing all night. He took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second song, approached her:

“That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.”

Mary, perplexed at having been stopped, did not quite understand and sat for some time on the seat before her father patted her hand and pulled her along. James was sorry for her but the next consequence of the evening came in the form of his mother. He found her among her usual party, particularly Lady Lucas. It was a blessing that Charlotte was among them, engaging Mr. Collins with distracting conversation, but his mother was as loud as ever, and Lord Darcy was agonizingly close enough to hear.

“Mama, if you love your children at all, you will stop talking,” he said behind her.

“Oh Lizzy darling!” she sang. “I was just talking of how soon you are likely to have a sister married!”

_“Stop talking,”_ he uttered darkly. “I hear no wedding bells. You shouldn’t speak so loudly.”

But the wine was in her and she only scolded him for being nonsensical. “Really, darling, three or four months, and I expect I’ll have but three daughters in the house! Perhaps less soon after! Engaging to such a fine young man with such amiable connections might surely open other doorways…to other chapels!” she chortled.

He rubbed his eyes. “For heaven’s sake, speak lower. You haven’t any advantage for saying such things than to make our family a further laughing stock than we already are.”

As much as James tried to check the rapidity of his mother’s words, the endeavor was in vain. He was only saved by the arrival of Charles with Jane, and his mother began her pursuit of inviting him to their house for dinner.

“It would make me so happy for you to share a family dinner with us, Mr. Bingley! At any time! Truly, there is no need for any formal invitation, you are always welcome!”

Charles grinned, all grateful pleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the earliest opportunity of waiting on her.”

Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and was ready to quit the assembly only once theirs was last carriage to leave it. She was all a flutter with mindless chitter of wedding clothes and new carriages for the event she was sure to happen. James could only appreciate Charles’ pleasant tolerance of her and ignore Darcy, who had once met James’ gaze with such a darkness as he did not want to think about.

He was pushing his arms through the sleeves of his coat, his sisters following their mother into their carriage when he heard Caroline remark behind him, “Wedding satins and—is she really speaking of garters? Not only is she out of her mind, forgetting how poor she is, but her vulgarity forgets she is still in the presence of company. William, do you agree? I am quite finished with tonight—”

“Her vulgarity is only comparable to your over familiarity, Miss Bingley,” he finished sharply. “I would appreciate it if you addressed me as Mr. or Lord Darcy.”

James did not dare turn around. Although for different reasons, he was quite finished with this night, indeed.

* * * * * * *

Not three days later, Netherfield was empty.


	8. Madhouse

A letter arrived for Jane.

As it came from Netherfield on a sheet of elegant, hot-pressed paper, it was opened immediately. James watched his sister’s countenance change as she read it, her eyes lingering on passages before she recollected herself and discretely put the letter away to rejoin the family’s conversation. But her false cheer was a poor imitation of her true joviality, and Jamie waited for her eyes to meet his so she would see him leave the room.

Soon she met him in their room and she silently handed him the letter. He recognized the flowing hand from Caroline Bingley’s other notes sent to her, though this one was considerably longer. His own mouth frowned upon reading the first line, and he resigned himself to disliking the entirety from there:

_Dearest Jane,_

_I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend…_

“She ought to stick to writing. She’s better at lying that way.”

Jane was decidedly silent, spurring him to read quickly, and aloud the most ridiculous of sections.

_“When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London might be concluded in three or four days, but we are certain it cannot be so, as these matters are never so swiftly resolved. We have determined on following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend his vacant hours in a comfortless hotel…_

His eyes moved quickly over the words, sparing Jane's ears from enduring the majority of it a second time.

 _“I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings…_ She certainly intends to keep him for a good while,” James remarked.

“It is evident he comes back no more this winter,” Jane agreed from her place at their window.

James scoffed from his seat on the bed, “It is only evident she does not mean he should.”

She sighed, “It must be his own doing, Lizzy. He is his own master, but you do not know all. Keep reading.”

He was skeptical of that but he continued forth with an ever deepening furrow in his brow and a darkness in his voice.

 _“Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, and to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and—_ Well now she’s just insulting.”

Jane’s chin dropped but a slight smile was on her lips. James only paused again when he read, _“Louisa and myself are heightened into a state still more interesting, for the hope we dare to entertain of her being hereafter our sister…. My brother admires her greatly already, he will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing, her relations all with the connection as much as his own…”_

He understood now why his sister’s eyes had lingered so long on the letter, as his did now. Jane asked softly, “What think you of it?” His head lifted at the sound of tears in her voice. “Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly declare Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister?”

James stood and came to her, pulling her against him to catch her sobs. “She is perfectly convinced of her brother’s indifference,” she said.

“I’ve told you from the beginning that Caroline Bingley is selfish and a egotistical,” he said softly, without pride. “Will you hear me?”

She nodded against him. “Caroline knows her brother is in love with you. No one who has ever seen you together can doubt his affection. She wants him to marry Miss Darcy, for her own benefit, and she follows him into town in the hopes of either persuading him or at the very least, keeping him away from you.”

Jane shook her head again, inducing him to squeeze her gently. “Could she have half as much love in Mr. Darcy for herself, she would have ordered her wedding clothes. But the case is this: We are not rich enough, nor grand enough for the ideal she has cloaked herself and her siblings. She is the more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, solely along the thought that if she acquires one Darcy, she may more easily secure the other. But she forgets how Miss de Bourgh is already betrothed to Mr. Darcy, and if she has deceived herself in believing she can go against the infamous Lady Catherine, well…we may yet witness Charles running back to Netherfield if nothing else than to escape both families.”

Jane might have laughed if she had agreed with him. “If we thought alike of Caroline I might be made to feel more easy about this. But I known the foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of willfully deceiving anyone; and all I can hope in this case is that she is truly deceived, though not for the reasons you give.”

James’ chin rested on her head heavily, exhausted by her insistent need to find good in everybody. “If only Lord Darcy were as easily swayed by artful words as you are. You may find, one day, how liberating it is to see the evil in somebody.”

Jane pulled away from him, finally smiling and wiping her eyes. “I will not, rather I remain loyal to Charles being independent of influence. A thousand things may arise in six months.”

However it was not the following months they need be concerned with, rather the following days. The eldest Bennets kept the occupancy of Netherfield to themselves since the wake of the ball was still felt within the house. However the arrival of the Philips broke the family’s bliss.

“How absurd,” Lydia exclaimed, while her siblings were silent. She tried to meet someone’s eyes, to make contact and shatter the reality, unveil the joke. When none were willing to meet her, she turned back to her visiting relation. “Aunt, you must be joking!”

Her aunt Philips shrugged over her tea, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, darling. Honestly, I am surprised I am the one to tell you, what with how close you are to Netherfield.”

Lydia sat back in her chair as if this was a personal affront. “What reason did he give for leaving?”

“Why, none,” their uncle chuckled. “A businessman need not give any reason for leaving a country estate when said business is in London. We only met him in passing.”

This was far from satisfactory intelligence but the eldest siblings left the room alongside their father and uncle, leaving Mrs. Bennet and her other daughters to pester Mrs. Philips with inquiries.

Mr. Collins, however, felt that in the midst of either the ball’s afterglow or the confusion of the Bingleys leaving, he would make his address to the family in form. Mrs. Bennet was speaking to no one in particular while the family broke their fast, her vocal thoughts lingering on how Mr. Bingley missed his promise to dine with them when Mr. Collins announced:

“May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair daughter, Katherine, when I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the course of this morning?”

Silverware scraped to a halt on plates as the family stared at him. Whether it was the superfluous formality in his manner of speaking or his choice in Bennet, the family was shocked to stillness.

 _Kitty?_ James wondered incredulously, meeting Jane’s equally astonished eyes. He then looked at Kitty, who looked at Mr. Collins vacantly before she quickly turned back to her plate, her complexion paling considerably.

Mrs. Bennet was the first to recover. “Oh, dear! Yes—certainly. I am sure _Kitty_ will be _very happy—_ I am sure she can have no objection! Come, Lydia, I want you upstairs.”

She rose from her chair and bustled around the table, tearing her children from their meals apart from Kitty. All seemed reluctant to leave for alternate reasons, except for Lydia who seemed eager to leave lest Mr. Collins’ attentions find her again.

Kitty tried to plead, “Do not go—Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear. I am going away myself!”

“No nonsense, Kitty. I desire you will stay where you are,” Mrs. Bennet refused with a hand on her shoulder. “Kitty, I _insist_ upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins.”

Kitty lowered back onto her seat, her eyes finding her last salvage in the room: Jamie. He stood with his hand on the doorknob, waiting for his mother to bustle out before he held her gaze as he shut it behind him. He remained right where he was, listening on the other side of the door. An intimate corridor opened up behind him, with Mary sitting on the stairs, Jane in the window seat on the landing, and Mrs. Bennet with Lydia on the small couch against the stairs, the former fanning herself. Mr. Bennet had taken his tea and departed from the room at the start of breakfast, therefore blissfully ignorant to the events occurring outside his library.

The sound of Mr. Collins’ chair skidding over the floor was heard. James could see it clearly: poor Kitty sitting there, subjected to Mr. Collins’ high chested proposal.

“Good morning, my dear Katherine,” Mr. Collins opened. James grimaced, glancing back at Lydia stifling her giggles.

“You may be wondering, given my certain neglect, why we find ourselves together now.”

James sighed heavily, his eyes falling into his palm. This was going to be unbearable.

“Believe me, your unwillingness toward my audience is most typical of your sex and has not dissuaded me in the least. Your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness…”

James leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. If nothing else, Mr. Collins might grow winded before he ever reached his climactic point.

“You can hardly doubt the purpose of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my intentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my future life, but before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying, as well as my esteemed choice.”

The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away with by his feelings, would have made Jamie’s laugher echo in the rafters had this not so involved Kitty’s own nerves.

“My reasons for marrying are first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add greatly to my happiness; and thirdly, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion on this subject, and it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford that she said, ‘Mr. Collins, a clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way…’”

James blinked and rubbed his cheek, forcing the disgust off his face. Was this supposed to be a seducing compliment? That one’s future husband is so easily swayed by a rich widow?

James’ brows shot up as he heard Mr. Collins utter a sound akin to a chuckle. “You may be wondering at this juncture, why I chose you over your more lively sibling, as well as your more educated and beautiful sister—”

_There is such a thing as censorship and you should bloody well use it._

“—both of whom would surely amuse or be approved of by the Lady Catherine. Rest assured, I have not chosen you for your likeness of name, rather, my fair cousin Jane has been reserved for another, while cousin Lydia is too young, and I think myself right in saying that though she would initially be welcomed at the quadrille table, the Lady Catherine would soon tire of a girlish spirit incapable of maturing.”

James peeked at Lydia, who was caught between insult and relief.

“Allow me, by the way, to say that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond anything I can describe; and your wit and vivacity I think must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite. It remains to be told why my views were directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighborhood, where I assure you there are many amiable young women.

“But the fact is, that being as I am, the son of the relative who was so long at odds with your father, I feel myself obligated by my position and indebted to the patience and kindness your father bestowed upon my own to fully dissolve the dispute with our marriage. It is, of course, no small thing, to help one live comfortably and pass peacefully from this world despite retaining a refined dislike of this individual…”

 _If she marries you, I think she will understand more intimately than anyone should,_ James thought sourly.

“This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing remains but for me to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection—”

Kitty’s own chair screeched over the wood of the floor. “You are too hasty, sir,” she cried. You forget that I have made no answer! Accept my thanks for the…compliment…you are paying me. I am _very_ sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them.”

Mr. Collins sounded far from perturbed. “I am of a knowledge that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, even during the second and third proposals. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the alter ere long.”

There was a pause. “Well your hope is rather an extraordinary one,” Kitty responded bluntly. “I do assure you that I am not one of those ladies…if such ladies there are. Why anyone would risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time it truly beyond me, but I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make _me_ happy, and I am convinced I am the last woman in the world who could make _you_ so. Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill-qualified for the situation.”

James took his weight off the doorframe. He did not like Kitty’s having to fall to self-deprecation in order to dissuade Collins’ intent.

“I cannot imagine her ladyship would at all disapprove of you,” Mr. Collins refused. “And you may be certain that when I have the honour of seeing her again I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable qualifications.”

Kitty’s tone was almost too low for James to hear: “If I am to be known by nobility, I don’t want it to be for my modesty…”

Despite being right next to her, Collins behaved as if he had not heard. “When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on this subject I hope to receive a more favorable answer so that we might skip the dalliances and playful refuses typical of your sex. They do not suit me, though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present.”

“Really, Mr. Collins,” Kitty huffed with some warmth, “you puzzle me exceedingly. I cannot understand how my replies have hitherto been accepted as encouragement.”

“You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal of my addresses are merely words of course. My situation in life, my connections with the family of de Bourgh, and my relationship to your own are circumstances highly in my favour; and you should take it into further consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made to you—”

James’ spine went rigid, his weight strong over his legs.

“—Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejections of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of young females—”

James swept into the room, startling Kitty, who looked ready to both fly at Mr. Collins as well as from the room entirely. Mr. Collins appraised James and said, “Apologies, cousin, for holding the room for so long. Did you need it?”

James silently went toward the door opposite them which led outside, moving the table’s chairs out of the way for her escape. “Leave, Kitty,” he ordered softly, holding the door for her.

She eagerly flew past him, exiting outside instead of being caught by their mother in the corridor. James shut the door and rested his forearms on the back of one of the chairs. “Mr. Collins, if you have any hope of marrying into the female sex then you would do best not to insult them.”

Collins was clearly oblivious. “I must disagree with your interpretation, I did no such—”

“You did,” James curtailed. “More than once. I do not know who gave you the notion that a woman’s refusal means anything other than a _refusal,_ but they are an invalid source.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Bennet,” Collins countered, “but this matter involves myself, Miss Katherine, and your mother—”

“No it doesn’t.”

“I—pardon?”

“It involves you and Lady de Bourgh, which this house has heard too much of since you arrived. In what dream did you find it appealing to marry a man who speaks entirely of an old woman?”

Mr. Collins began to come around the table, his self-proclaimed clergy superiority driving him to stand near James. “I am surprised at you, sir. I have thought highly of you and would have believed you held your family’s happiness in the greatest esteem—”

“You are not wrong,” James finished, his patience officially leaving the room in Kitty’s wake. “But you misunderstand _us_ entirely. My mother wrongly led you to believe one of her daughters would be interested in you.”

The odd sound of mirth came from Mr. Collins again. James barely restrained his disgust. The senior Mr. Bennet would have done a better service in taking Mr. Collins as a child and teaching him proper interpretation of social interaction as opposed to feeding his useless father during his last years.

“Mr. Bennet, your intentions are good but it is my place in society to lead people like yourself and your sisters in the right direction. Though it would do young Lydia the better lesson of being married to the church, Katherine, I think, will suit Hunsford very well—”

James stepped forward, his voice dark and irreproachable. “Mr. Collins, you are a fool and an imbecile. You are the toy of a bored widow and you will never marry a woman from this family. You have insulted them. You have humiliated them. You ridicule us for being poor when we are only so because your father could not gather the energy to feed anyone more than himself. If you owe any debt to us, return it in the form of respect and silence, nothing else.”

Mr. Collins opened his mouth to speak but James stopped. “Get. Out. Of this room, Mr. Collins. I’ll admit to not knowing how they do it in Hunsford but in Longbourn, no. Means. No.”

Mr. Collins seemed to at last have a stroke of either brilliance or fear. His eyes widened and his mouth shut decisively. His heels clipped across the wood as he obediently left in silent contemplation.

Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule, no sooner heard Collins leave then with a quick step entered the breakfast room to accost Jamie. “Have you lost your mind!”

“Sometimes I think I’m the only one with it,” he answered mildly, moving to stride past her. In a great sound of frustration, she bustled after Mr. Collins while Lydia rushed upstairs and out of sight. He made to ascend around Mary, but upon noticing her expression, he paused and sat beside her. “Mary?”

Her head moved as if to look at him but did not quite make it. Her dark hair was still loosely braided over her shoulder for sleep. After a time, she voiced, “I had thought…I had thought it would be me.”

James frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“He and I are of a kind. Abnormal. Neither of us is overly welcomed by society. His conversation may be dull and ignorant but he is never averse to talking to someone, regardless of who they are. I would have thought his desire for a prudent woman and someone who enjoys books as much as he would steer his proposal toward me.”

James heard her and absorbed her thoughts before he took both of her hands in his, which was rare considering most of her family touched her only sparingly and she did not request contact. “Mary, you are inquisitive, introspective, and artistic. You are anything but dull. Just because your thoughts vary from what normal society deems as ‘important,’ does not make you unintelligent or less deserving of anyone’s time. If you want to marry Mr. Collins, it should be because you enjoy him, not because you feel obligated to be with him. He is wrong to say one’s first marriage proposal will be one’s last… Do you know what it means to be one’s wife?”

She nodded gently but James was not sure. “Do you…know how one has children?”

She nodded with more surety, her dark grey eyes shyly meeting his gaze. “Yes.”

“Do you want Mr. Collins’ children?”

Her lips pressed together as she shook her head.

“During his time here, have you enjoyed him? Spending time with him, sharing conversation with him?”

Her lips parted, but as she considered this, they closed, and she shook her head. “No…I cannot say I have. But…Jamie…If I am to never marry…? If I...do not _wish_ to marry...”

He startled her by standing, and kissing her hairline on his way up. “Then you will have a home here, as you always have.”

“But, but Jamie!” she rushed as he began to leave her. He paused and met her shocked and confused gaze. “Do you mean it?”

He grimaced a final time, but for entirely different reasons. “I’m your brother, Mary, not your benefactor. You have just as much right to this place as I. More, for surviving this madhouse with more patience than anyone.”

He met Jane on the landing and they continued upstairs together, leaving Mary with a small smile on her lips.

* * * * * * *

“Mr. Collins!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed raggedly as she caught up with him. “My utmost apologies, sir,” she breathed. “Kitty shall be brought to reason. I will speak to her about it myself directly. Both Kitty and Lizzy are a very headstrong and foolish. He does not know Kitty’s interest; but I will make them both know it.”

Contrary to her hopes, Mr. Collins’ brow and lips were set in stern decision. “Pardon me for interrupting you, but if she is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state.”

Mrs. Bennet was beside her self, uttering an involuntary, “Ha!” in her exhausted state from running after him.

“If therefore she persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defect of temper, she could not contribute much to my felicity.”

He turned to continue his walk. “Sir, you quite misunderstand me,” Mrs. Bennet cried, alarmed. “Kitty only easily takes after which ever sibling captures her attention at the given moment! This is her only fault! In everything else she is as good-natured a girl as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and we shall very soon settle it with her, I am sure!”

She did not give him time to reply, rather, hurrying instantly to her husband, calling out as she entered his sanctimonious library.

“Oh! Mr. Bennet,” she huffed, her face scarlet. “You are wanted immediately! We are all in an uproar; you must come and make Kitty marry Mr. Collins, and you _must_ place Lizzy into submission! For she vows she will not have him, and if you do not make haste he will change his mind and not have Kitty!”

Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them on her face with a calm unconcern which was not in the least altered by her communication. “I have not the pleasure of understanding you. Of what are you talking? What is this about Kitty and Jamie?”

“Of Mr. Collins and Kitty!” she harrumphed. “Lizzy declares he is an imbecile and Kitty ran from the proposal!”

He blinked at her mildly. “And what am I to do on the occasion? It seems a hopeless business. I agree, Mr. Collins is an imbecile.”

“Speak to Kitty yourself!” she shrieked. “Tell her you insist upon her marrying Mr. Collins and when Lizzy tries to intervene, stop him! You know how impressionable Kitty is! She will easily believe Lizzy knows best!”

Mr. Bennet stared at her for a long moment contemplatively, almost as if to test her patience. Finally he uttered, “Let her be called down. Both of them.”

Mrs. Bennet rang the bell beside his door. Mr. Hill arrived and accepted the task of going to find Kitty and James. When Mr. Bennet's children arrived, James stood near the door with his arms crossed while he called Kitty close. “Come here, child. I have sent for you on an affair of importance.”

Being the smallest of his children, she came to sit on his lap, his fingers interlaced on her waist. “I understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is it true?”

“Yes, papa.”

“Very well, and this offer of marriage you have refused?”

“I have, sir,” she answered worriedly.

He nodded. “Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your accepting it. Is not it so, Mrs. Bennet?”

“Yes, or I will never see her again!” her mother pronounced.

Mr. Bennet’s eyes glimmered as his son uttered a soft _Ugh._ “It appears an unhappy alternative is before you, Kitty. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.”

Kitty startled at his response. A smile flashed on her face but hesitated. “Do you mean it, papa?”

Her mother, however, stormed, _“What_ do you mean, Mr. Bennet, by talking in this way? You promised me to insist upon her marrying him!”

James cut in, “While you threaten to only have four children otherwise?”

“I _ought_ to make it three!” she fumed.

His eyelids only hung at half-mast as he shook his head. “Marrying your children off before anyone else in the county is no achievement if they are unhappy and despise you.”

Mr. Bennet intercepted, “Then our Jamie was right in intervening in Mr. Collins’s pursuit of you?”

Kitty nodded eagerly and he nodded with a warm smile. “Then go on. Your last duty of the day is to suffer the humiliation brought on by Lydia.”

She kissed his stubble and collided with Jamie to hug around his middle and take him from the room before their mother found a reason to keep them. Mr. Bennet picked up his book once more, only sparing a moment to tell her, “My dear, I have two small favours to request: first, that you will allow me the free use of my understanding on the present occasion. And secondly, of my room. I shall be glad to have the library to myself as soon as may be.”

“This entire family is against me!” she proclaimed despite leaving the room.

* * * * * * *

While the family was in the throes of this confusion, Charlotte Lucas called upon the house to spend the day with them. She was met in the small foyer by Lydia, who flew down the stairs to her and relayed, “I am glad you’ve come! There is such fun here! Mr. Collins has made an offer to Kitty! Kitty! But she will not have him, and Lizzy has made quite an ordeal over it.”

Charlotte had hardly time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty and Jamie leaving their father’s library. They confirmed the news, and made the mistake of entering the breakfast room for Charlotte to join them in the finishing of their meal, but Mrs. Bennet was there and called upon Miss Lucas for her compassion. James exchanged an apologetic look with Charlotte, who was sure to endure their mother’s pleading her to persuade them while her own children fled the room.

“For nobody is on my side!” they heard their mother exclaim. “Nobody takes part with me, I am cruelly used, nobody feels for my poor nerves! See how they leave me! Oh it is all very well that I shall never speak to them again! I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children. Not that I have much pleasure in talking to anybody. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer! But it is always so. Those who do not complain are ever pitied…”

Charlotte, as a good neighbor and long standing member of the family would do, listened and let Mrs. Bennet commiserate with herself with very little help from Charlotte. Mrs. Bennet spoke for such a time as Charlotte eventually witnessed James and Kitty alongside Jane appear outside of the window, although they only made eye contact with her and sat upon the step outside.

It was during this time that they were joined by Mr. Collins who, upon returning from his walk, entered with an air more stately than usual. Mrs. Bennet immediately sent Charlotte from the room. She went as far as the others sitting on the stoop, which was close enough to still hear what was possibly the largest testament to Mr. Collins’ intelligence, and the last:

“My dear madam,” he curtailed before Mrs. Bennet took hold of the conversation, “let us be forever silent on this point. Far be it from me to resent the behavior of your son and daughter. You will not, I hope, consider me as showing any disrespect to your family by withdrawing my pretensions to your daughter’s favour. My conduct may I fear be objectionable in having accepted the refusal from your daughter’s lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to error. I have certainly meant well through the whole affair. My object has been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with due consideration for the advantage of all your family, and if my manner has been at all reprehensible, I here beg leave to apologize.”

* * * * * * *

Despite the rejection and his acceptance of it, Collins seemed determined to not leave early. For the coming Saturday he was bound to leave and until the coming Saturday he meant to stay.

The sole reprieve during this time came from the usual walks to Meryton, which provided a change of scenery, company, and on this particular occasion, the return of Mr. Wickham into their lives.

The Bennet siblings were looking through their aunt’s latest shipment of fabrics and ribbons when James looked across the street to see the man exiting a cobbler’s shop. As if sensing him, their eyes met and Wickham grinned, looking along the avenue before he jogged across to meet him outside. Today his hair was untied, the honeyed tresses flopping pleasantly in the sunlight.

“How lovely to see you,” he greeted, sliding an arm around James’ shoulders. “Walk with me.”

James looked back to wave at Jane and noticed as they walked that Miss Lucas’s civility dictated her listening to Mr. Collins along their own stroll; so he might also enjoy Meryton without due closeness to the Bennets.

To James’ surprise, it was Wickham who entered upon the obvious topic at hand. “I must apologize for not meeting you at Netherfield. I found, as time drew near, that I had better not meet Darcy. To be in the same room or at least in the same party with him for so many hours together, might be more than I could bear. The possibility of unpleasant scenes arising between him and myself kept me away.”

James could only sigh. “The Netherfield ball feels weeks away. I haven’t the energy to scold you, so I will easily agree.”

Wickham gazed at him with a sympathetic smile. “Oh? Have I missed out on more than a ball?”

James gave him the short and simply of it: of Netherfield’s occupancy and their own domestic unrest. Wickham listened with his usual calm and at last voiced, “Well, from two weddings to none. And yet everyone is happy apart from your mother,” he chuckled. “This is a unique circumstance.”

They walked for much of the day, eating at his aunt’s and using Wickham’s free day to their advantage until in the mid-afternoon he had to return and James met Charlotte once more. She was without Mr. Collins, who left to ensure his things were in order to leave the day after next.

“New accessories?” Charlotte asked, flicking a ribbon sticking out of one of his parcels.

“It is the season of clove and berry,” he confirmed. “Papa’s finally given me leave to use our fruit preserves while mama’s distracted by her own lamentation.”

Charlotte laughed but with some sympathy for his mother. “May I help?”

“You just want a scone with jam,” he accused.

“Of course,” she smirked, “but I’ll work for it.”

With his own smile he opened his elbow to her and they strolled home to Longbourn. It was there he stirred the wax in his pots while she revealed that though the family was without two weddings, she was equipped with one.

James stopped his stirring and looked at her, gauging her sincerity. “Is your Collins the same as our Collins?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes around her scone, taking a break from labeling his tapers. “There is only one Collins in Longbourn until I marry him.”

He pivoted toward her with severe skepticism in his eyes. _“Mr. Collins?_ When did this happen?”

“Today,” she said, “although my receiving him has been since he first arrived.”

“Sure, but I thought you were just being kind.”

She shrugged. “I was, but with his feelings being unmet by Kitty, I thought I might sway them in my direction.”

“Feelings?”

Her eyes rolled again. “Whatever he has. His intent is now focused on me.”

“Mr. Collins?”

She glared at him. “Jamie.”

“You are engaged to Mr. Collins! Have you paid no attention to how ridiculous he is?”

She sighed gruffly. “Ridiculous he may be but he is not unmanageable. I am seven and twenty, Lizzy, and the match is not unattractive from a logical standpoint.”

“Logic,” he scoffed, returning to his herbs to rub them between his palms and drop them into the according pots.

“Why should you be surprised, Lizzy? Did you think it was impossible for Mr. Collins to be able to procure any woman’s good opinion?”

“He already has the good opinion of his patroness,” James countered. “Whether Collins could be half of a happy home is less believable.”

“Jamie,” Charlotte scolded, but her tone was different. Softer. James’ head turned over his shoulder to find her gazing out the kitchen windows. “When you have had time to think it over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know. I never was.”

“You never believed you could afford romance," he reiterated.

“Some of us cannot!” she rounded. “The same could be said for you. You have your home but what about after? The entailment entitles it to Mr. Collins after the immediate males pass on. Have you ever even considered being with a woman?”

James bristled but just as quickly paled. He had not. “I will sooner break the entailment and give this place to Jane’s children,” he voiced quietly.

Charlotte sighed, tired. “I ask for a comfortable home only. I haven’t any money or prospects apart from this. Considering Mr. Collins’s character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state. At the utmost, I might sculpt the home to suit my needs and comforts while he distracts himself by pleasing Lady de Bourgh’s fancies.”

They fell silent. James could only rest his pelvis against the counter as he absorbed her sentiments. He could only gaze out of the windows as well as he thought aloud, “Somehow this marriage predicts a loneliness greater than if you went without him.”

Charlotte huffed a laugh. “I refuse to believe myself alone while you yet live. I will never forgive you if you do not visit me and visit me often, James Elizabeth.”

His shoulders lifted with his own mirth, his smile falling to the floor in shame. “Yes,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “I will. Of course I will.”

The tension between them eased. Her chin bobbed once, pleased and relieved. “Good. And I fully expect you to decorate my wedding.”

His head tilted back as he guffawed, but as she finished her tea and they poured the candles, he could not quite fathom the events of the week. The strangeness of Mr. Collins’s making two offers of marriage within three days, juxtaposed with his now being accepted was both commendable and unbelievable.

But what weighed heavily on James’ thoughts was how Charlotte’s opinion of matrimony varied so widely from his own. James could not say his parents’ marriage was a happy one. Perhaps in the beginning, and in moments, but he was witness to his parents avoiding one another more often than sharing a common space. Previously he would have painted a marriage with Collins as a humiliating picture, but his friend’s sacrificing happiness for social and domestic security altered his opinions.

He had developed a strict standard of happiness for himself and his siblings, taking for granted that how his sisters might achieve happiness did not match his own. His sisters could achieve marital bliss, even if only for the initial honeymoon months. He could not, and the reality of Charlotte leaving Longbourn with the impending state of his sisters leaving as well, left Jamie feeling wounded and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [~ Read more here ~](https://www.pondermoniums.com/)


	9. Nuisance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: constantly convinced "nuisance" actually has 2 s's.  
> Every spelling resource: No, Ponder, stop.  
> You can read more chapters on pondermoniums.com!

To say Mrs. Bennet shared in her neighbors’ happiness would have been a laughable falsehood. She most certainly interpreted the matrimonial announcement as not only an insult, but an injury due to the method of its unveiling.

Mr. Collins at long last bid his farewells, but not without foretelling his return. Mrs. Bennet had little time to astound at his forthrightness as, similar to the Philips coming the with news of Netherfield’s occupancy, Sir William and Lady Lucas came by the house for luncheon and unguardedly shared their news. Lydia, always unfiltered and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed, “Good lord, Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Do you not know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Kitty?”

It was a credit to Sir William’s breeding and his knowing Lydia since her birth that he weathered such a reaction. Mrs. Bennet, however, was statuesque despite her growing colour. Also similar to the Philips’ meeting, Jane and James left early, leaving the family to sort out the news by themselves.

Despite James’ initial reservations of the match, he found himself looking forward to the winter wedding, though he dared not voice such a thing in his house. Between his mother’s glares and Lydia’s incessant reminders, the family could not rest in piece before the imminent return of Collins.

There were still some days until such a time, although James awoke early to feel their home in the grips of winter. Frost glittered in the grass and the overgrown foliage of their garden as he took a steaming pot of tea and a book on seasonal flowers outside. He sniffled in the golden morning, sitting upon a stone wall which had been built and neglected long before his time. His nose was red but the sun was warm through his coat, as the wind had not yet awoken.

Jane joined him, then, the sound of paper crinkling drawing his thoughts. Only a glance told him whom the letter was from. “Another one?”

Jane’s sigh fogged before her face. “Do you want to read it?”

James answered as he read his own pages, “If she’s only going on about Miss Darcy, I haven’t any interest.”

Jane drank from his cup, her pale fingers pushing the letter open. “She says they’ve moved from London to Darcy’s home for some weeks. She writes with great pleasure of Charles being an inmate of Darcy’s house, with some of her own plans regarding the furniture…”

“It sounds as if she is trying to mark her territory by tyrannizing Darcy’s decorating,” James returned bluntly. “It is unsurprising at this point. She speaks so highly of the place and then tries to make her own changes to it. To be the dog on the rug in that house to watch her failures would be greatly amusing.”

He took the letter from her, if nothing else than to take her eyes off it, before he noticed, “Jane, this letter is a week old.”

“Yes,” Jane dismissed, her gaze far away.

James did not want to read it. He cared more for the distance in his sister’s eyes and her reluctance to share her current fears with him. He knew she could think of nothing else, yet whether Bingley’s regard had really died away, or was suppressed by his friends’ interference…was of no question to him. Charles loved her even if he was ignorant of it, but because of this James began to fear of Charlotte being correct. Whether Bingley had been aware of Jane’s attachment or whether it had escaped his observation entirely was something James scolded himself for not considering sooner.

Whichever was the case, his sister’s situation remained the same, and her peace was wounded.

“Jane…”

“I’m fine,” she said a bit too quickly. She sniffed, shaking her head to move the hair out of her face. “I am only harmed by mama’s continual reflections on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgotten, and we shall all be as we were before.”

“What happened to ‘anything may arise in six months’?”

“You doubt me,” Jane bristled. “Indeed, you have no reason. He may live in memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all."

James’ eyes were deadpan and dubious, but he was not one to stop her from convincing herself.

“I have nothing either to hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with, thankfully. I have not that pain. A little time, therefore…I shall try to get better. I have this comfort immediately: that it has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it has done no harm to anyone but myself.”

He poured into their cup, his eyes lifting heavily as her sigh trembled. “Jane, this is not fair. You wish to think all the world respectable and are hurt if I speak ill of anybody. I only want to think you perfect and you set yourself against it. Either Bingley is a blind, impressionable fool, or you are the one at fault. This is your logic.”

She turned to him finally, her eyes red. “And if it is both? Were he and I so unlikely from the start?”

He could not meet her pain, so he occupied himself with returning the cup to her hands. “You know my thoughts already.”

“You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him.”

“Yes, in conjunction with his friend.”

“Mr. Darcy?” Jane puzzled. “I cannot think Lord Darcy has much thought on others apart from being away from them…although…if his pride does extend to the company his friends keep…”

“No,” he halted immediately. “I fear Darcy’s involvement has been a direct result of myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I…” he hesitated. “I fear I was tested. And I failed.”

“What?” Jane pushed. “Tested how?”

“He…knows I fancy men.”

“How?” she urged, her own fears forgotten.

“He kissed me,” he revealed quickly. “It is my own fault for kissing back.”

Jane was quite silent, and then, “Do you fancy him?”

_“Absolutely not.”_

“Are you sure? He is handsome—”

_“No,_ Jane,” he curtailed. “He may be just as, if not more so, responsible as Caroline is for your unhappiness. I do not fancy him.”

Her features softened, her eyes clear. “Jamie…he’s not—”

“Do not say his name,” he snapped.

Her breath halted, but she pressed gently. “All right. But he isn’t. This situation isn’t like that one, and I’m not saying that time was your fault.”

“It was, Jane,” he finished, leaving the pot with her as he stood from the wall.

“Lizzy,” she tried to halt but he only shook his head, striding away.

He considered walking toward Meryton, so his steps took him to the pressed grass of the road, but as he rounded the house he heard his father’s voice coupled with another. He saw none other than Mr. Wickham chatting animatedly with his father over the balanced logs acting as a fence.

Wickham’s eyes found him, “Hello, Jamie.”

Amusement curved his lips. “What’s brought you so far so early in the morning?”

“I thought I would either invite you to breakfast or impose on you for it,” he grinned.

James laughed. “Doesn’t the military feed you?”

His father pulled him against his strong, weathered body. James fell willingly inside his arm. “Forgive him. His tongue is sharp when it has not been dulled by a meal. We’re happy to have you and your company will be a _welcome_ distraction at our table.”

“You are sure?” Wickham asked. “I do not wish to be a complete nuisance.”

“One nuisance to replace another is sometimes a welcome change,” Mr. Bennet countered enigmatically. He squeezed James’ arm. “Be sure Hill knows we have a guest.”

“Hill?” Wickham said as he followed James into the house.

“Our…” James gave it more thought. “Cook. He’s more than a servant or a butler. He has his own house and family near the Lucases.”

“Paying for help is no small thing,” Wickham esteemed. “I was under the impression you were poor.”

James’ laughter burst from him. “Perhaps it’s your status as a regimental without a war that makes you think that. Four unmarried girls on a farm is looked upon by others as poor.”

“Don’t remind me of my exciting life,” Wickham grinned, taking the seat James offered beside his customary place at their dining table. Their conversation was trimmed short by Lydia and Kitty’s arrival for breakfast.

Mr. Wickham’s society proved to be exactly as Mr. Bennet predicted. He was of material service in dispelling the gloom, and after he revealed to have the day off from his duties, Wickham was welcomed to stay the entirety of the day as well as encouraged to visit many others.

After they supped, the Bennets huddled by the road and wished him a safe walk back to Meryton. Wickham bid them each farewell, his eyes lingering on James as they shook hands, and then again when he was down the road and turned back to wave.

His sisters twittered back to the house with their mother whereas Mr. Bennet remained with James as they took a stroll in the twilight. “So, Lizzy,” he began, “your sister is crossed in love, I find, and I congratulate her. Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to think of, and gives her a sort of distinction among her companions. When is your turn to come?”

James huffed a laugh, “Papa…”

“You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane,” Mr. Bennet continued, and then paused his stride to meet James head on. “It is time, Lizzy. I will not let my daughters fly in either real or imaginary happiness while you sink here alone. Let Wickham be _your_ man. He is a pleasant fellow, and I daresay he enjoys looking at you more than your sisters.

“Or not. Here are officers enough at Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. If it isn’t Wickham, I’ll trust your taste to not love a fool.”

He might have walked away but instead he brought his son’s hand inside his elbow to pull him along. Jamie’s other hand was left to cover his face as well as his embarrassment.


	10. Something Old, Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [~ You can read more chapters at pondermoniums.com ~](https://www.pondermoniums.com/)

On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving her brother and his wife, who came as usual to spend their Christmas at Longbourn. Mr. Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man and overall more educated than his sister, as evident by his choice in a matching wife. James much wished his uncle and aunt could have arrived earlier so the Netherfield ladies could have stumbled over believing how such a pair from Cheapside were as noble and charming as they thought themselves to be.

Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman as well as a favourite of all her Longbourn relatives. Between Jane and James especially, there resided a particular regard that brought them to visit her many times during their stay in Meryton.

Upon her first visit, Mrs. Gardiner distracted her younger nieces with their gifts before drawing the elders to a different room for their presents. “You will understand momentarily my reluctance to bestow such things in view of your siblings. Lydia and Kitty can be distracted by ribbons and illustrated pamphlets of the latest fashions, and Mary with her music books, but the pair of you have the care to appreciate finer goods.”

For Jane, she bestowed a new gown of modest green fabric but exquisite lace trimmings. Jane flushed at the sight of a single pearl necklace to wear with it. “Aunt, this is too much! How much this must cost!”

Mrs. Gardiner only laughed. “Do you think I sit idly all day waiting for money to come in? My husband has had a successful season and not without my own labours. Your mother has already related her grievances to me that we shall have a wedding to partake in soon. I would very much like you to wear it.”

For James she gave a fine new dinner jacket that could withstand the winter wind, as well as a green cravat with a pearl pin to match Jane’s dress.

Later on, however, while the rest of the family was busy with their uncle, Mrs. Gardiner gave him a leather bound notebook with metal pen nibs, brushes, as well as inks and colours with which to use them. He showed her his sketches of the floral plans he was contemplating for Charlotte’s wedding, marking notes of her approvals and suggestions.

“What think you of this matrimonial business, Jamie?” she asked. “Two sisters almost married, I heard most thoroughly, and then none. The Lucases stride with quite a melody in their step whenever I see them in town.”

“Better for them than us,” James said mildly. “Once you meet Mr. Collins, you can measure the man yourself. The only sadness is Jane’s.”

“Yes, the so infamous Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Gardiner breathed, leaning back on the couch cushions. “It seems likely to have been a desirable match for Jane. I am sorry it went off. But these things happen so often. A young man, such as Bingley, easily falls in love with a pretty girl for a few weeks, and when accident separates them, so easily forgets her. These sort of inconstancies are very frequent.”

“A consolation it would be, aunt, if it were an accident,” he said. “Or does it often happen that the interference of friends will persuade a young man of independent fortune to think no more of the girl? To witness two people violently in love and then sorely wrenched apart begs more consideration than a common autumn romance.”

His aunt wrinkled her nose. _“Violently_ in love? Goodness, do people still use such context? I thought it had been hackneyed, so doubtful and indefinite are such emotions. It is often applied to feelings which arise from a half hour’s acquaintance and mistaken for real, strong attachment. Pray, how _violent_ was Mr. Bingley’s love?”

“Longer than a half hour,” James grumbled. “His attraction to her was immediate but endured for a month and more. I never saw a more promising inclination. He was growing quite inattentive to other people, so engrossed he was by her. It might have saved him to notice the contrast of opinions shared among his peers. He readily enough behaved uncivilly, whether it was in refusing to dance with other partners or ignoring participants in conversation entirely. Is not incivility the essence of one in love?”

His aunt guffawed, her hand coming to stroke his shoulder blade. “I should hope love would inspire the more pleasant parts of a personality to shine through but I cannot disagree with you. Every now and then, we find we have the capacity to love but one person and let the rest hang. Of that kind of love I suppose him to have felt. Poor Jane!” she sighed. “I am sorry for her because, with her disposition, she may not get over it immediately. It had better have happened to you, Lizzy. You would have laughed yourself out of it sooner.”

His hand stilled over the paper. “Do you think me so fickle in matters of the heart?”

“Oh hush,” she chided. “I know you perfectly well. From your mother you have a large heart, but from your father a skeptical mind. You do not love easily, but when you do it is fully and irrevocably.”

He was silent for a moment before he turned back to his drawing of the church and his floral additions. “We agree only halfway.”

“Oh?” she chimed. “Do you fall easily in love? Your mother will be over joyed.”

A laugh escaped him and she shared in his mirth, drawing more laughter from him before she said. “Do you think Jane would be prevailed on to go back with us? Change of scene might be of service—and perhaps a little relief from home may be as useful as anything.”

James considered that. “We know Bingley to be traveling between London and Derbyshire.”

His aunt was not bothered at all. “We live in so different a part of town, all our connections are so different and we get out so little. It is improbable they should meet at all, unless he comes to see her.”

_“That_ is unlikely,” James said bitterly. “When I say he is guest of Derbyshire, I mean that he is custody of his friend, Lord Darcy, who would no more suffer him to call on Jane in such a part of London. Mr. Bingley seems to never stir unless it is in Darcy’s company.”

“So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But does Jane not correspond with the sister? _She_ will not be able to help calling.”

“She will drop the acquaintance entirely,” James countered. This raised his aunt’s brows but thoroughly closed the topic.

The Gardiners stayed a fortnight at Longbourn; and what with the Philipses, the Lucases, and the officers, there was not a day without its engagement. This was perhaps the first year that the holiday was eclipsed by another occasion, but as weddings were so few per person, its arrival as well as that of Mr. Collins, became the only talk of Meryton and Longbourn. With the influx of activity and officers in the house, among which was Mr. Wickham, James had the arsenal he needed to prepare the church for Charlotte’s wedding.

Since Caroline had first mentioned a greenhouse in the area, James had asked around and Wickham agreed to ride with him to collect the foliage he wanted, with the added help of Sir Lucas’s wallet. The preparations for the wedding progressed remarkably smoothly, largely by Charlotte’s expert handling of Mr. Collins. Charlotte gave him tasks that either amounted to nothing or which he could accomplish and would keep him from the church or James’ handling of the decorations.

Charlotte herself was beside herself in helping James wrap wreaths of pine and pussy willow, green and violet being her chosen theme. Silver partridge feather leaves made up the bulk of her bouquet with purple pansy flowers as well as English ivy to cascade along the front of her dress. Her gown was a modest white linen with long sleeves, but Lady Lucas had unearthed an heirloom garment of lace that was a similar pattern to the partridge leaves. She reworked it to make up the starched collar and chest of Charlotte’s dress, making the gown look fit for Sir and Lady Lucas's eldest daughter.

On the day, Sir Lucas, Charlotte, and James stood in the church foyer while a violin began to play the song Charlotte chose to announce the bride’s arrival. James was just pinning the pansy blossom and sprig of silver leaves into her hair before she entered the church. “I reckon you have half an hour before the flower wilts, so finish promptly."

“Why would you get me a flower as fragile as that?” she scoffed.

“Because pansies are able to survive winter snows and even bloom outside of spring. It’s stronger than it looks and you’re the strongest person I know.”

“Lovely recovery,” she challenged but her smirk softened as he kissed her cheekbone.

“You look beautiful. Now go put my mother to shame.”

She laughed, doubling over to check her skirts and then took her father’s arm. Wickham and Mr. Denny opened the doors for them and the pews creaked as everyone stood. James waited until the bride and father were well down the aisle before he stepped in to stand discretely in the back row with Wickham. “She does look beautiful,” he agreed in a whisper. “You made her into a lady.”

“She already was a lady,” James disagreed as they sat and the wedding began. “She has more dignity than this place deserves. Thank you for your help.”

“It was my pleasure,” Wickham assured. “Though my intent was selfish in wanting your time and less than charitable for Charlotte.”

“Are you flirting with me during a wedding?” James cornered.

Wickham put a knuckle over is mouth to stifle his chuckle. “Just picked up the mood, I suppose.”

But as James gazed down the aisle at the bride and groom, he wondered what exactly that mood was. Charlotte was resplendent and held her ground with poise and elegance. Mr. Collins was the same as ever, high chested and solemn, but blissfully silent. He reckoned the Lucases were the ones setting the overall tone of the audience; the parents proud and smiling through tears while shushing the younger siblings’ giddy whispers and movements.

Charlotte and Mr. Collins slid silver rings over each other’s fingers and everyone stood to file out of the church, creating a tunnel of tossed clover leaves over the bride and groom as the new couple led the way to the assembly building for their reception. Somehow in the throng of people queuing for the wine, Wickham arrived beside James with two glasses. They chinked together as he said, “To a long day of merriment!”

“Is that what this is?” James laughed, drinking his.

Wickham frowned over his gulp. He unfurled a finger from his glass to accuse, “Mr. Bennet, I do say you are a cynic.”

“I am a pessimistic romantic,” James clarified.

Wickham guffawed. “That’s something of a contradiction. Whatever could I do to alter such an existence?”

“Repeat whatever wizardry allowed you to fill this the first time,” James said, handing him back the empty glass.

Wickham appraised it and pivoted to do just that. “You don’t take celebration lightly, I respect this.”

However upon seeing Lydia engage Wickham in conversation by the wine table, James followed him and gently snatched his glass before Lydia took it instead. “Don’t waste a drop on her, no matter what she says.”

“Waste?” Lydia balked. “Lizzy, it’s a wedding! Surely I can drink today!”

“Make a fool of yourself at your own wedding,” James countered, “but not at Charlotte’s.”

“You’re so sure I would!” she scoffed, but his even stare broke her confidence and she angrily stomped elsewhere.

His aunt Gardiner smoothly appeared in her stead. “The sentinel big brother never ceases.”

“It might if she had spent another month in the womb to develop her sensibilities,” James said bluntly. Wickham snorted beside him but sealed in his mirth.

“Hush,” she scolded. “She is only acting her age. What were you doing at fifteen?”

James was definitively silent. Wickham glanced at him and offered, “George Wickham, mum. I don’t know if James has spoken of me.”

“I am his aunt Gardiner in law,” she gave him her hand. “You are the one who’s helped him with today’s decorating, yes? Only a military man would tie such a knot on a bouquet.”

His chin bowed as he laughed. “Not as elegant, I admit, but I challenge those flowers to come undone when she throws it.”

“You were born in Derbyshire, no?” she eyed him.

Wickham’s expression froze but he recovered, “Yes, mum. Born and raised. You are familiar with the area?”

“With its people,” she nodded. “It was perhaps more than a decade ago, I’ll admit, but I had the honour of calling Derbyshire my home for a good while. I am sure you and I would share many acquaintances.”

“I am afraid not,” Wickham disagreed. “I left almost immediately after the late Lord Darcy’s death.”

“Your families were close,” she recalled. “I do not remember often hearing the Darcy name without Wickham accompanying it.”

James watched Wickham’s fingertips blanche and refill with colour as he intermittently gripped and relaxed around his glass. “My father and next two forefathers worked loyally alongside the Darcy family.”

Her face tilted. “What inspired the break in tradition? I hope his majesty’s army has come through in its promise of adventurous service.”

She looked to James, who shared her mirth while Wickham smiled out of courtesy. “I am sorry to say it was more out of necessity, as my father loved the late Darcy so much he gave every thing to him.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then either he was a fool or he thought you would follow in his steps and secured your inheritance with a powerful family.”

“Undoubtedly,” Wickham acquiesced, “although Darcy’s children…did not agree with tradition.”

She gazed at him closely. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I do not like talking about it,” Wickham altered. “The current Lord and Lady Darcy were dear friends to me, regardless of their hubristic upbringing.”

“Yes, I encountered them one day in town,” Mrs. Gardiner declared. James’s eyes slid to her, recognizing the tone of her voice when she challenged her husband to chess or cards. “They were lovely and remarkably behaved children. A gentle lord and lady before their time. What happened to alter such behaviour?”

“The lack of a mother in the home, perhaps,” Wickham guessed. “Gentility is something to be nurtured and reminded of. Without a source for it, I worry it was left to wither, and the deaths of our fathers left our relations to do that same. Lord Darcy was just here not some weeks ago. I would have liked your measure of him now.”

“As would I,” she agreed. “I have heard he is remarkably tall and handsome. Perfect for an older woman’s daylight fantasies. Or candlelit.”

James coughed on his wine but Wickham laughed. “Most assuredly. I pray you do not let the current estimation of the man ruin them, too.”

“Oh?” she challenged anew. “What gossip is there? I do hope it is thoroughly lascivious and venomous.”

Wickham guffawed at that. “Lascivious, no. The man is far too cold and bristled to do any such thing.”

“I should think a certain briar in the right place does the trick,” she remarked.

James rubbed his eyes and swirled the contents of his glass. Wickham continued, “You are not wrong, of course, however that is simply not the sort of man Darcy is. He would never do anything to condemn his family’s honour or so much as hint at it. Nay, he shut the gates entirely to anyone outside of the family; even those destined to join it.”

James and Mrs. Gardiner stared at him, the latter uttering, “You were engaged to Georgiana Darcy?”

“You never told me that,” James said, “Just that you were meant to inherit a livelihood. Something about service to the church.”

“Married service to the church, thankfully,” Wickham revised, “or at least it would have been. It was not finalized, as our fathers perished beforehand. I cannot say I am entirely denied happiness, as the proud Georgiana would have been a dragon of a wife, although that fated connection to my inheritance has been forever denied me. I am left to live as one of thousands of the king’s toy soldiers and the Darcys are the richest, albeit most disliked people to ever visit Hertfordshire.”

Mrs. Gardiner hummed to herself, pondering. Wickham added, leaning forward as if in confidence, “I must ask you not to share my former state with the Lady Darcy to others. I did not tell you, Jamie, since nothing came of it and I do harbour some fear as to what Darcy will do if his sister’s story were shared.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Gardiner finished with a look over Wickham’s shoulder. “Oh goodness, Wickham, would you be an immense help and occupy my sister in law? She has bristled in her own way out of jealousy. Conversation with a handsome man like yourself will be just the remedy.”

Wickham grinned. “At your service.”

He left them and James felt his aunt’s arm entwine with his own as she strolled to more spacious, quieter areas of the ballroom. “I must warn you toward caution, Lizzy.”

“Caution?” he repeated.

“I don’t like when people tell me to forget what they’ve immediately told me,” she breathed. “It rings with a certain danger or untruth, especially as his story so immediately clashed with his initial version to you.”

“It did not clash,” he corrected, “merely lacked that key detail.”

“Even so,” she continued, “his manner of speaking…he is quite the skilled talker. I do resent age and how it fades one’s memory. I have of course heard tellings of the Darcys’ pride but his account of the children too easily overlaps my own recollections. And I consider myself a keen and intelligent woman. To have my memories so fractured makes me inclined to dislike the cause of it, not my own faults.”

“Can you be sure this isn’t your own pride?” James suggested. “We are each privy to a certain amount of self esteem.”

“I live in London, darling,” she retorted, “and the swiftest way to ruin in such a place, is a lack of surety in oneself. Hear me, Lizzy. You are too sensible to take warning just because I have given it. You may analyze it as you wish before finding a conclusion, but I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve yourself, or endeavour to involve him, in an affection which the want of fortune would make imprudent.”

“Fortune?” James laughed. “Neither of us has such a thing.”

His aunt continued as if she had not heard him, “I daresay I have nothing against _him._ He is a most interesting young man, and if he had the fortune he ought to have, I should think your sister could not do better.”

James frowned. “Which one?”

She gave him a look. “Lydia, of course! You have not neglected her fancy for handsome military men. But as it is, _you_ must not let your fancy run away with you. Your proximity to him will too thoroughly build Lydia's bridge to him. You have sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend on your resolution and good conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father.”

His brows reached for his hairline. “My, this is being serious.”

“Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise,” she cornered.

“Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. He shall not be in love with me, if I can prevent it.”

“Jamie, you are not serious now.”

He finished his glass and apologized, “I beg your pardon, I will try again. At present, I am not in love with Mr. Wickham—”

_“Lizzy,”_ she snapped.

“—but if he becomes attached to me, I do see the imprudence of it. How the abominable Mr. Darcy’s actions have driven Wickham toward my company and therefore Lydia’s and—goodness—how Lydia’s ideal lifestyle in ogling military men for the rest of her days would come to fruition.”

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head theatrically. “We can’t have that. But in all sincerity, my father’s opinion of me does me the greatest honour, and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My father, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very sorry to be the means of making you unhappy, but even if Wickham is in search of a woman of fortune, he shan’t find such a one in any of us. As to the matter of his relation with the Darcys, they are gone, as Wickham himself is soon likewise to be. My interest in such familial ordeals will leave with them.”

“Very good,” she resolved, appeased. “At least, during his remaining weeks here, you should not remind your mother of inviting him.”

He looked accusatorially at her. “Who just sent him over to her?”

“Oh,” she scoffed, “two can be manipulative, and young men do so enjoy being useful. I wanted to speak alone with you, that is all, however I see our time has come to an end. Congratulations, darling. You make for a stunning bride.”

James looked up to Charlotte who had met them. “Thank you so much,” she grinned with a glance down at herself. “I may finally let myself go!” she laughed.

Mrs. Gardiner laughed with her but briefly touched her arm in passing. “On the contrary, I encourage you to always feed your magnificence. Then you may be forever the goddess of your home while the man shrivels away.” She winked at her, and left them.

Charlotte, mildly dazed, looked at him. “Your aunt is…”

“Something,” he smiled. “How do you feel?”

“It hasn’t sunk in yet,” she admitted, taking his hand while her other came to hug the bend of his elbow. “Whatever will I do without your company, Lizzy?”

“I imagine a number of things,” he soothed. “Though I do not know what married women do outside of my mother’s habits.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then you shall be free to decide yourself. Or Lady Catherine will decide for you.”

She laughed but said seriously, “You cannot think me overly impressionable.”

“No, I don’t,” he assured.

“I shall depend on hearing from you often, Lizzy.”

“That you certainly shall,” he smirked.

“And need I remind you,” she declared, “of your vow to come and see me?”

His head bowed over his smile. “No, you needn’t.”

“Good,” she said softly, relieved. “My father and Maria are to come to me in March. I hope you will consent to be of the party. Of course you are as welcome as either of them at any time.”

“I know,” he promised.

The bride and groom soon set off for Kent, leaving the assembly to continue celebrating without them. James wrote to Charlotte the following morning, both fulfilling his promise of correspondence as well as supplying material for her to further relish matrimonial success. His mother made it quite easy with her “Thank heavens they’ve left!” and “The next one, Maria, is hardly out in society.”

Charlotte’s first letters were received by himself and Jane with eagerness. There could not but be curiosity to know how she would speak of her new lodgings, and upon reading them, Charlotte wrote cheerfully, seemingly surrounded by comforts, and mentioned nothing which she could not praise. The house, furniture, neighborhood, and roads were all to her taste.

“At least Lady Catherine keeps her neighborhood pleasantly managed,” Jane said. Charlotte went on to write how the Lady Catherine’s behaviour was most friendly and obliging. All in all, it was Mr. Collins’ picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened. “This is good, isn’t it? Surely it can be good to be wrong once in a while, where it counts?”

“I won’t know how far Charlotte’s optimism has stretched until March,” James concluded.

Then it was Jane’s turn to leave. James was happy to see her excitement while she packed, how her skirts bloomed with air when she twirled to reach for this hat and that shoe. She was a year or more younger as she slid her loose hair behind her ear, looking at the vanity and gauging what from it she would need. “You needn’t worry,” James soothed whenever a wrinkle of doubt passed over her face.

“What if I forget something?”

“You will be in London,” he hushed as he sat on her trunk and clicked it closed. “If our aunt lacks what you need, I am sure somewhere in the great metropolis, there will be a shop for you to explore.”

“I don’t plan to spend too much money,” she declared. “Just a refreshing holiday in the city.”

“What is a holiday without a little spending?” he challenged and then reminded, “If nothing else, Lydia and Kitty shan’t forgive you for lack of souvenirs. Just don’t bring back the plague.”

“The plague,” she laughed as she collapsed next to him, “hasn’t been in London for more than a century. I wish you were coming with me.”

He looked at her. “Why?”

She looked at him as if he had asked a remarkably dull question. “Because I enjoy your company. Why else?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he considered. “You and aunt might mistake me for a strong man who might carry your luggage.”

“How dare you,” she teased, “I am not cruel. And I would not let her. It would be your holiday just as much as mine.”

He nodded, “Next time, then.”

“What will you do here while I am gone?” she asked, rising to finish today’s attire. She sat at the vanity and James arrived behind her to manage her hair.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“No adventures while I am away?” she smiled at him in the mirror. “You’ll save them for when I return?”

He smiled as he worked. “I think we’ve had our adventures. We’ve outdone this place.”

“That can’t be true,” her voice softened.

“People never stay at home for adventures,” he reminded. “They must go elsewhere for new ones. Charlotte has gone to live hers as you are going to find your own.”

“Then what of you, Jamie?” she asked. “Is it too late to beg aunt to accommodate you as well?”

He took a deep breath, “I would not recommend it. Aunt has a mind that Caroline will visit you and I best not be within the area.”

“Or you’ll defend my honour?” she grinned at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, with my glistening sword and my ready pistols.”

“A pirate all to myself,” she giggled.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m happy,” she wiggled a little with energy.

His gaze lifted to meet hers in the mirror. “Good.”

Jane wrote to him to announce her safe arrival in London, to which he sent her an envelope of dried lavender and lime rinds he had found in a forgotten jar. When next she wrote to him she informed how her apartment now smelled of summer and that she had heard of the Bingleys being in town. In her letters to Caroline—which James had observed were getting less and less frequent before she left—she had revealed to be traveling to town. She refrained from making any sort of further announcement of herself for a week, but then relayed:

_Out of friendly obligation, as well as aunt’s going into that part of town tomorrow, I shall take the opportunity of calling upon Grosvenor Street._

She wrote again when the visit was paid, and had successfully seen the younger Miss Bingley. _I did not think Caroline in spirits, but she was glad to see me, and reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming to London. I was right, therefore; my last letter had never reached her. I enquired after their brother, and she told me he was well, but so much engaged with Mr. Darcy, that they scarcely ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected to dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was not long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I daresay I shall soon see them here to repay the visit._

James closed the letter with somber thoughts, and went to find other pieces of home to cushion the maltreatment of London.

Jane’s succeeding letters told of her events and tours of the city, but it was not until the end of the month that she returned to the topic of the Bingleys. She had not seen Charles at all, and as for the sisters, even Jane admitted to developing excuses for them as each evening arrived with no return of her visit to them. Jane could no longer be blind to Caroline’s inattention, but when the visitor did at last appear, her shortness of stay and altercation of her manner did not allow Jane to deceive herself any longer.

_My dearest Lizzy, will, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in your better judgment at my expense when I confess myself to have been entirely disillusioned in Miss Bingley’s regard for me. Though the event has proved you right, do not think me obstinate if I still assert that, considering what her behaviour was, my confidence was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her reason for wishing to be falsely intimate with me. Caroline did not return my visit till yesterday, and not a note, nor a line did I receive in the mean time._

_When she did come, it was evident she had no pleasure in it. She made a slight, formal apology for not calling before, said not a word of wishing to see me again, and was in every respect so altered a creature that when she went away, I was perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity, though I cannot blame her—_

James put the letter down to exhale and rub his eyes. “For once in your life, blame somebody,” he whispered to no one.

_I can safely say that every advance to intimacy began on her side, but I pity her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrong, and because I am sure that anxiety for her brother is the cause of it. I need not explain myself further, and though we know this anxiety to be quite needless, yet if she feels it, it will easily account for her behaviour to me. So deservedly dear as he is to his sister, whatever anxiety she may feel on his behalf, is natural and amiable._

James had to reread this section several times before he ultimately shook his head and continued on. “You no longer make sense, Jane.”

_I cannot but wonder, however, at her having any such fears now, because if he had at all cared about me, we would have met long ago. He knows of my being in town, I am certain, from something she said herself. It should seem by her manner of talking as if she wanted to persuade herself that he is truly partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I should be almost tempted to say that there is a strong appearance of duplicity in all this._

James scrubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe I should have gone to London.”

_But I will endeavour to banish every painful thought, and think only of what will make me happy: your affection, and the invariable kindnesses my dear uncle and aunt have bestowed me. Let me hear from you soon, Lizzy. Miss Bingley said something of his never returning to Netherfield again. That the house was given up, but not with any certainty… We had better not mention it, least of all to mama. I am extremely glad that you have such pleasant accounts from Hunsford in your last letter. I look forward to switching places, with myself awaiting your letters and you entangling yourself in new company._

_Yours, ever,_

_Jane_

At this point, Caroline Bingley met every expectation James had of her, which left his criticism to fall upon Charles. He could not even wish for a renewal of his affections for Jane if he were to continue being a coward in the face of his sisters and friend. As much as James had enjoyed his own moments with Charles Bingley, his character sank in his review of the letter, and James even dared to think it advantageous if Charles married Georgiana Darcy. If Wickham’s account were to be believed, Charles would have his lifelong punishment, and Jane would at last be free from him.

Mrs. Gardiner, of course aware of the siblings’ correspondence, sent her own letter within the parcels Jane sent him. She reminded him of James’s promise concerning that gentleman, and required information. James patiently assured her that the man’s attentions had been thwarted from the Bennets, if nothing else then for the reason of the regiments leaving Hertfordshire.

_Dear aunt, your concerns fall upon an anticlimactic result. Not only has Wickham begun packing for a new location, but he must part with a lady outside of the Bennet home. One of the King daughters caught his fancy—she does have a stake to ten thousand, if you are so stuck on our discussion of fortune—however none here dislike him for it and I can assure you I am as much not in love with him as when I first told you. As seriously as ever, I guarantee that if I were in love with him, I would have detested his very name and not only wished him every manner of evil, but would have endeavoured to grant him those evils._

_That being said, only Kitty and Lydia feel his defection. They are young in the ways of the world, and are not yet open to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something to live on. I am sure Lydia believes Wickham would pluck the stars from the sky and eat them as easily as chocolate truffles, the beautiful fool._

_Look after Jane. She dwells in her own thoughts almost as much as I do._

_James Bennet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Gardiner doesn't know Jamie's gay, so their conversation is meant to have some sort of ironic humor in it.

**Author's Note:**

> [P&P has fanart! Show the artist some love <3](https://peaceloveartsnart.tumblr.com/post/176864703270/i-have-had-the-pleasure-of-your-acquaintance)


End file.
